
3 o 


A* \ 

«b f • 






*0 K * 



c o*V" 

: ^o* . v 

jpv^ *?mm: * 

%c •Jh: W #&: 

_ , /\ -fw* **\ v®K- /\ 

*^K7* .6* '•.»• A <v *'T7i» .G* 

k , CV * k< •* 6 0 ** * ♦ ^>. rt> • ^ ^ 

£_ r, U A** * ^ *tL- rV *r 





°o ''* 

v' V v »L^,'% 

<• *. A *V5IkV. ^ A* 



* 

<4 

* o 

* *o J 

jy A^zr 

•*: W «fe”°. ^ v :M: W 

. .,><* ;l^ t ,c,tp. *^%%|Kw» A v^>. 

«* ^ *><Si|v <,# ^ <fc^ ^ 

*® « * * <\ **JV« * *Cr <£, *''<>•** /% ^ 

3 . ^ _o*^f * # ^ 0^ »• *A** ’*0 J1 4^ ,oJ^% ' 

*b ^ f ^b* t&M&z* *b & ° 





• • 






0 ^ a^ ♦ 

*“ <&%> \ 

> ■<y <#* • 


*^7Vi» .0 o 

V (0* 



*.;•• A o' 'V *••■>• , 

% c\ Jf V V 

%. A* *V^#V« ^ A 

>*? -mm,\ w 



A 0 .* 

^ CV 4* 

r .. °* * 



♦ *3*V v ♦ 

L". *>6* .'1 


4°* 



• yga Uttwy • 

N 41* ~v«k # ^kj\v^$^r>° 

&> *'' <y * 4 % • -° 

v ‘^:- %. >’ 
vv !^®^: f v 





<y v 


. '•.»• A O ♦iTVi* -6^ '•••• A 

q . ® * * * ^ Wv 4 1 t o 4 J^> -0*0- 

^ ^ Cr ■» o • «4^cv 

^ o'o&mc- 


• *+<? : 


0 ^ AfW** A <> 0 

*i*®» ^ V c\ «0 V »I*®- V 

aVa. :^sal^« 


lO^ ^ * # 1 # 







1 0*. *> » * * A <* *<7Vi* .0^ XJ, '«.,?* .<% 

,Wfe< x> A *^\>, *$_ c° o A , 

• 'J 


4°^ 


• V 0 


• o 'A * (^' 

° ^j> ***•»* ^ 

<<y *»*®* *t>* v ••Vi* 

LV * 


°d 

*-s 



• ^ 4^* * 

°. W * 
• -„ 


; 

»° -l^ . 

* '.,.«* Op V' 

' V„<<* •>%:•. ■ 



# Va 

‘% tr. „ 0' * 

: :i 


°o. 


♦* «*► 

V v* tl v,. ^ 

•fc VrtfiiV* *#»>. X 

* •Jpfev 

j>%^ i$mm: a* 
• v (^ • 



r O 



w »*"** 

IK # • * * VV •^T'.'i • -0 

• '*_** O *4 o tf * ** ^ .iii 

. Jr «v£&rf. V .C. 0 ♦• 

: **> ? ' ; 

> 9 .„ «Sv "’* \^ .... v ••••• 


°o 

*> v * * • A 

• X? ♦'^Stok*. ^ 
°. 

* 6 • 

* *£ 




r O xi 

» ^ jO» t * 

- *o v* :«! 

L o-ft 

* « 


• « o 


° * 




^•v 


4" ♦* 






+ vs$$»v «p ++ ‘.w/ * v ^ x< 

V c° r^k. °o a* .•&£% % / . 

«-. ^ - -*< .*^nv. * a 


**4 


• # i 





4®* 


; *o & 

«v V #T ^*V \ 

% tV/ A* f «o rf ^V a *«^ 

** /P ;^fe*- ^ / 4V£ ^ ^ 

tf imwk' tf :mam~ *** : 

* %/Wm : y\ /\ \ 

•“•»<* ..... V^.4 0 .....\ ••"•■• A' 

--•■*• •* <sa[V : ^o* ;^^*. -o4 ?V 

« A SI, 1 1 — * 


♦ 




< 



4 ©ft 


• I* 



i* cfi 4* C' J) .ft 

, A 9 *•«*!% > A' Oft xp^ <?> 

%/ .-^y. ^ .-afe-. %„.,<•* •• 





<<*^ 
ftS'V 



ifl Cj' 




°>ai 


D 

MAIDEE, THE ALCHEMIST; 

OR, 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD 



NEW-YORK : 

M. DOOLADY, PUBLISHER. 


1871. 








Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
SUSAN CANNON, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


TO .THE MEMORY 

OF 

MY OWN NOBLE AND PRECIOUS MOTHER, 

THESE PAGES ARE MOST AFFECTIONATELY 


JtbkalA 























* 







































































' 



























































s 

■ . 1 


. 


















- 






•* 

v ; 












. 
































Mu 




























•• : . . ' : ■ 
























* 














































• 























/ 




. 

































































































• ■ 






> •. 






. . 










































^ ■ . ' ■ • 



MAIDEE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Why is it that Mors, pale, wan, like a dim spectre rises 
before me ? In the hour of pleasure, when the heart is 
thrilling with happiness, she is there, like a dark incubus, 
casting light and gladness from her. path way — covering 
each footprint with thorns. Is it a bodement of coming 
gloom ? or is it alone that a shadow has fallen upon my 
heart ? that the chrism of a mother’s love was withdrawn 
when poor, yearning nature refused to yield its treasure ? 

0 spirit of my mother ! if indeed thou art permitted to 
hover over thy child, thou knowest how deeply I have 
mourned for thee, how many tears are daily shed for 
thee, how, when my poor heart is crushed and bleeding, 

1 have longed for thy sympathy; for thine alone could 

have sufficed! ,,, 

“ I have watched the planets, when night had cast its 
sable mantle over all things, and wondered if it were pos- 
sible that that were your dwelling-place. Even the little 
stars, ‘ God’s lights’ sparkling from their starry thrones, have 
been associated with thee. I have listened to the whis- 
pering winds, hoping they would bear some message from 


8 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST ; 02 ?, 


thee ; and oh ! how futile are my efforts to crush out the 
memory of the past.” 

A low, convulsive sob, a shuddering of the frame, and 
the head bowed as if in meek submission to a destiny 
which seemed inevitable; the aching forehead pressed 
heavily against the marble mausoleum, reminding Marian 
still more of the last parting, when the icy lips gave back 
no response to the orphan’s caress. 

“ Marian, can I not fill to some extent the aching void 
within your heart ?” 

Marian started. Strange that voice had never seemed 
so musical before. She looked up ; her stepmother stood 
before her. 

“ Marian, my child, will you not cast off the chilling 
hauteur which has so long existed between us ; and let me 
be to you that which my feelings prompt — a kind step- 
mother ?” 

She entwined her arms gently around the young girl. 
Perceiving no resistance, she continued, 

“ I do not ask for the unfathomable love that was your 
own mother’s ; that I know to be impossible. I do not 
ask for more respect, for you have never deviated in the 
slightest degree from the Fifth Commandment. I do 
not ask for your mourning for the departed to cease. God 
grant that that may never be ; but I do ask, my child, for 
your confidence ; and, if years of kindness can obtain it, 
your affection. I am a being with like frailties and like 
feelings with yourself, and not the obdurate, stern creature 
you imagine ; and, my darling, I have learned to love the 
retiring, shrinking girl, who can not sepulchre the love of 
other years. Love and cherish your own mother’s me- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


9 


mory, and if need be, together we will plant rare exotics 
near her grave, rearing them by tender care, until the tomb 
shall no longer wear the cold, chilling gloom which it does 
now to your young heart.” 

Marian stood aghast. Could this be the one whom 
busy gossips represented as the usurper ? the one from 
whom every latent emotion must be concealed ? in whose 
presence the dead should never be mentioned? She 
gazed upon her stepmother; but there, instead of a face 
of adamant, a look of deep sympathy responded. She 
traced intellect which, irradiating the whole countenance, 
gave an animation and power which seemed irresistible, 
and at the same time such purity of soul breathed from 
every feature, that Marian Lee bowed in humble admiration 
before that guileless nature. Strange that the love which 
for weeks she had rejected as unworthy, should now seem 
quite a desideratum. Tears of deep contrition betrayed 
the generous emotions which nestled in the innermost re- 
cesses of her heart. 

“ Forgive me ! forgive me !” she faltered. 

“ Forgive you, Marian ? Alas ! you have no need for 
forgiveness.” 

“ Oh ! yes ; I have been so selfish in my grief ; but in- 
deed you know not what I have lost. She was my per- 
fect dream of perfect womanhood ; it was her delight to 
listen to the 4 dawn of my little joys/ to aid my mind in 
its varied developments, and she alone was the nurse of 
all that is spiritual and exalted in my character. When 
sickness came, how gentle, how kind ! ’Twas at her knee 
I first learned to lisp, ‘ Our Father, which art in heaven/ 
It was there I first learned to reverence holy truths. You 


*9 


MAIDEE) THE ALCHEMIST / OR 


can not think me culpable when I say that since she left 
me my heart has known no happiness : all nature seems 
clad in mourning ; and even the little flowers, with their 
dewy petals, I think at times shed tears of sympathy with 
me.” 

Mrs. Lee looked upon this child of genius, this poetical 
dreamer with perfect admiration ; and murmured faintly, 
“ She must love me.” 

u Marian, believe me, you are not alone in your grief. 
Where can you find one who has not been called to yield 
up the loved ? How many have scarce a stray sunbeam 
in their homes to light its desolation : where of all that 
they once cherished, naught 

“ ‘remains but a handful 
Of light dust. Thus man comes to his end ; 

And our one conquest in the fight of life 
Is the conviction of life’s nothingness.’ ” 

“ But all have not lost a mother.” 

“ True, but too true, Marian ; and indeed this is the 
great grief of life. Wandering dreamily back upon the 
past, it is ever my mother’s face which illuminates the re- 
trospect. Amid the wildest ambitionings of early youth, 
it was her commendation that sanctified the end when 
attained. Alas ! how few appreciate the sacred devotion 
of a mother until death has cast its cold signet upon her 
affection. But we have all a mission in life, the respon- 
sibility of which we can not surrender to another. 

“ ‘ Within the deep, 

Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim, 

Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


II 


Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 

And solemn finger to the beautiful 

And holy visions that have passed away.* ” 

“They can not be obliterated; but should that not 
alone be an incentive for higher aims and higher wishes ? 
Remember, ‘ the dead are only sleeping.’ You have 
draped the morning of your life in an impenetrable gloom ; 
but would your mother, think you, if she, as many pre- 
sume, lingers near, be happy, as your guardian spirit, at the 
thought of your talents buried, your time spent in cease- 
less regrets at her tomb ? Would not her mandate, on 
the contrary, be, ‘ Go forward, unwavering in your duty, 
employing the talents usefully, which God has so gene- 
rously bestowed ?” 

A faint smile flitted over Marian’s pale face. “ Think 
you so, mamma ; think you so ? Will I indeed be fulfill- 
ing the wishes of my mother, by heeding your admoni- 
tions ?” -r 

“ Undoubtedly, my child.” 

“ But I can not renounce this sacred spot.” 

“ That is not necessary. The great heart-agony of my 
life has been that my mother’s grave is in a dense copse, 
far from human haunts, and that the sacredness of grief 
must give itself vent in the presence of others ; for I can 
not visit it alone.” 

“ Ah ! then you too have suffered ?” 

“ Suffered, Marian — suffered ! If you call the entire 
isolation of years, with no human affection I could scarce 
call my own, until your father’s wealth of love was placed 
at my feet, suffering, then I have suffered. Genuine 
friendships are rare. ‘ We require individuality in our at- 


12 


MAIDEE , TEE ALCHEMIST. 


tachments. The sympathy which is diffused over the 
many will commonly be found so much attenuated by 
the process that it can not become affection for any/ ” 
Mr. Lee stood there in the gloaming. “ I thank Thee, 
O our Father !” came in incoherent sounds from his lips, 
unheard by mortal man ; but the winged messenger sped 
onward and upward, with this utterance from a grateful 
heart, placing it at the footstool of the Great “ I Am.” 


CHAPTER II. 


Poplar Grove, bathed in a drapery of Arcadian beau- 
ty, had been for ages the home of the Lee family. Built 
of stone, it had withstood the ravages of time. Ivy cov- 
ered the antique walls, and the lofty turrets and domes 
enhanced still more its beauty. Reared strictly in an 
oriental style, one could have imagined himself in ancient 
Persepolis or Samarcand, had the light of Islamism lin- 
gered near. Tall poplars covered the banks of the river 
where the old homestead stood, reminding the classical 
scholar of the physical myth of Phaeton ; the mournful 
wail of the Heliades chanting their sad requiem over the 
ambitious but ill-fated youth, touching afresh a sympa- 
thetic chord within the heart of the listener. To aug- 
ment the delusion, pet swans dipped their silvery wings in 
the lucid stream, causing a feeling of regret that a friend- 
ship like that of Cycnus should be buried to the world. 

Here the rich foliage of the magnolia vied in splendor 
with the mock-orange ; water-oaks and hedges of every 
description flourished in the greatest luxuriance. 

Planted near an aquarium was an acacia, imported by 
some member of the Lee family from Polynesia, and 
carefully nurtured as a relic of foreign reminiscences, bear- 
ing upon one of its branches a bottle-shaped nest, the 
little home of the baya. Near this spot Marian loved to 


i4 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / (XR, 


linger, watching her special pets in their numerous do- 
mestic duties, as they made their egress and ingress ; and 
these little strangers, transported from their native clime, 
had learned to know and love her. Here she would 
amuse herself for hours dropping small articles ; but ere 
they reached the sparkling water, the baya would bear 
them up again in its bill, delivering them to the excited 
creature, whose pleasure at the act could scarce be re- 
strained by necessary silence. 

Here, holding high carnival, were insects of every hue ; 
birds from every land, caroling such melodies that 
man, “ foot-sore and weary,” charmed for a moment into 
forgetfulness, listened to the lullaby, enraptured. 

There was a touch of pathos in this austere grandeur ; 
each little leaf, each little flower were but emblem of that 
canopy of love which only for a moment, as it were, 
shielded and protected — whispering to the orphan’s heart 
of an irreparable loss. But the Lares were there, ming- 
ling amid these woodland beauties; beneficent hiero- 
phants, unknowingly to the inmates, pleading gently for 
nature’s God. 

At the entrance of this vast domain which a munificent 
hand had embellished, metamorphosing it into an elysium 
and the poet’s dream, stood grim Cerberus, faithfully 
discharging the onerous duties imposed upon him, driving 
back the frightful shapes which would have alone tar- 
nished by their touch this fit asylum for the pure and 
holy. 

In a retired nook, where the yew and weeping-willow 
had cast their mournful shadows, stood a mausoleum, 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


*5 

glistening in the sunlight, which would have rivaled in 
beauty the last resting-place of Timur. 

The grave had been prepared, the corpse lowered, the 
sad words uttered, “ Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” when 
with a wild, despairing shriek, which startled nature in its 
mournfulness, Marian Lee cast herself at her father's 
feet 

“ Spare me ! oh ! spare me this agony. Give me only 
a small dwelling for the dead, and I will not murmur • 
Oh ! you can not, you will not permit those cold clods to 
remain on her dear head ! Father, father !” she shrieked, 
‘‘you are killing your child! Give her back, give her 
back !” 

Mr. Lee pressed the pallid cheek to his own. A wild 
stare caused the beholder to quake; life and death 
seemed blended. The work ceased. The corpse, raised 
from its gloomy cell, was borne back with Marian to the 
desolate homestead. 

Weeks glided by — weeks of terrible suffering and 
watching to the lone man. One had been taken, and 
now another seemed ready to cross the threshold of 
death. How could he murmur, “ Thy will be done ” ? 
But the proud man, who had scarce known the purity of 
prayer before, now wept and humbled his stem nature ; 
pleaded that, if it were possible, this cup of bitterness 
should not be forced upon him. That gush of anguish 
was answered; and when Marian Lee again walked 
forth, the home of her mother in its proud beauty met 
her bewildered gaze. The little key was placed in her 
hand, and opening its sacred precincts, she feasted upon 
the placid features of the dead. 


i6 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST. 


Mr. Lee, tremulous and pale, would fain have shielded 
her from such an ordeal ; but such holy calm, such quiet 
resignation enveloped that ethereal being, that the sorrow- 
stricken mourner read in the revelation, that the promise 
had been kept. 


CHAPTER III. 


When God, in his just wrath, blasted for man the 
innocence of Eden, driving him forth a wanderer, placing 
ct flaming cherubim ” at the entrance to the spot which 
for him had alone breathed beauty, he sank down 
beneath this weight of woe. The skeletons of evil — 
frightful spectres that they were — glittering here and there 
on the cursed earth which he had been commanded to 
go forth and till, mowing down each blade from which 
he fain would draw comfort, rose up menacingly before 
him. 

Glancing into futurity, the earth, with its vast sea of 
tombs — humble graves with scarce a slab to mark the 
poor man’s dwelling ; mausoleums and stelas, carved and 
beautified by man — passed rapidly before his mental 
vision. Its piteous pageant presented naught to soothe 
the being created in the similitude of his God. But one 
faint hope still lingered ; a gentle, confiding nature touched 
fallen man, presaging peace, painting bliss yet in store 
while commingling their joys and sorrows. Over the 
harbinger of his grief a veil of oblivion was cast, and he 
now clasped her to his heart as the harbinger of hap- 
piness. 

The mantle of our great mother has fallen gently upon 
her posterity. How often has weary man pleaded that 


1 8 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 

the thunderbolts of heaven might sink into a total eclipse 
each darkened vision! But in the midst of the im- 
possibility, we cling mournfully to the memories that have 
fled, canceling naught, but amalgamating the lights and 
shades into harmony. 

To-night we are opening the propylaeum of the past 
few years at Poplar Grove, unfolding the mysticisms 
which yet cling around its inmates. 

Day was fast mellowing into twilight. Seated in an 
oriel window, whose uniqueness would have charmed the 
connoisseur, sat Mr. Lee, busily disintegrating each link 
in the chain of his married life. No hideous gnomes 
were near, uttering contumely for neglect of the dead; 
no sibylline leaves revealing harshness; no asperities 
with which he could reproach himself were wafted back 
by the survey ; duty, stern, unyielding, was portrayed in 
every act. 

The gentle virtues of his wife had certainly won his es- 
teem and respect ; but his heart had been in the keeping 
of another ere the plighted vows had been spoken. One 
face had ever lingered, queen of his ideal world, seated 
upon a pedestal from which he had vainly attempted to 
dethrone it. But the calm exterior, the vigorous surveil- 
lance over each thought and emotion, blinded his daily 
companion to this latent pang ; and she died — blessing him 
for a tenderness and thoughtfulness to each wish which 
had rendered her stay on earth so happy — with his name 
the last on her lips, because the most dear. 

Hour after hour he sat there, buried in thought, min- 
gling its hues with the celestial world, motionless, appa- 
rently unconscious of every thing around him. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


*9 


“ Maidee, Maidee !” at length he murmured, “ why can 
I not, like the Chaldeans, ‘ people the stars/ and trace in 
their brilliancy thy fate ?” 

A sharp ring, a quick step, and Clarence Heywood, the 
friend of his youth, his bosom companion, was clasped 
warmly and affectionately to his heart. 

“ Clarence, my dear friend, you can not divine how op- 
portune your arrival has been. Gloomy feelings had the 
ascendency, and, like ‘ Banquo’s ghost/ they appalled ; but 
your coming has exorcised them.” 

“ Impossible, impossible, Lee, that you admit such visi- 
tants in so charming a retreat !” 

A coup d' ceil had revealed to Clarence Heywood — whose 
penchant for the beautiful amounted to a passion — the ex- 
quisite taste of his friend ; statuary, by the most finished 
sculptors ; paintings, which bid fair to rival Raphael ; 
shells, rayonnant and beautiful beneath the light of the 
chandelier, revealing the splendors that lurk amid ocean 
depths, enticing the fancy into the belief that “ each wave ” 

“ Had caught a star in its embrace, 

And held it trembling there !” 

Birds resting lightly on green boughs, in the act, as it 
were, of warbling forth notes — ariose strains which would 
enchain the auditors — their gorgeous plumage and inimi- 
table arrangement persuading man momentarily of their 
reality. 

“ Ah !” sighed Clarence Heywood, " I breathe once 
more in fairy-land.” 

“ Come, Clarence, away with such delusions — to-night, 


20 


MAIDEE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


at least. Suppress your love of art, and relate the his- 
tory of the years that have glided by since we met last.” 

Clarence Heywood, convulsed with laughter, seated 
himself by the side of his friend. 

“ Yes; I anticipated a lecture, and, as I have received 
one, will subside into reality. Now for a tite-ci-tete” 

“ Well, in the first place, explain the cause of your celi- 
bacy. Surely you do not intend remaining a bachelor 
always ?” 

An expression of pain passed over that joyous face. 

“To be candid with you, Lee, within the last few 
months I have, for the first time, appreciated those 
lines in Don Juan: 

* ’Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come;’ 

I would give my countless wealth to obtain the affec- 
tion of one being — a nonpareil, according to my views.” 

“ Well, really, this is becoming grave. I had imagined 
you blast, indifferent to love, and indeed to womankind ; 
but I find that time, which casts a tinge o'er all things, 
has not touched your enthusiasm.” 

“ Far from it. In me you find the same old monotone. 
I would willingly submit to the proximity of the serpent, 
notwithstanding my repugnance to it, if, like Melampus, 
I could plunge into the depths of futurity, and prognos- 
ticate my success.” 

“Surely, Clarence, she is not invulnerable to your 
charms ?” 

“ Even so, and with an obduracy which is inexplicable.” 

“ When did you meet ?” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


21 


“ Well, to be more explicit, I will give a full account of 
this passion; for with me it certainly amounts to that. 

One day, while reading a newspaper in the city of M , 

I met with a perfect gem in literature, a stray waif over 
which all were enthusiastic, but to which no clue as to 
the authoress could be obtained. Hastening to the editor 
of the paper — a personal friend — I urged a revelation of 
the place of concealment of the one, who had so singularly 
written in unison with my own feelings. At first, my en- 
treaties were unnoticed ; but finding I could not be repuls- 
ed, he commanded secrecy, and disclosed the name. In 
a short time, a happier man, I was searching the dwellings 
in the suburbs for the favorite. At last, amid the debris 
of what had once been an elegant home, I saw a glimmer- 
ing light. Knocking upon the door, in a moment all that 
my fancy had pictured, stood before me — a true woman, 
with 

“ ‘Eyes like the starlight of the soft midnight, 

So darkly beautiful, so deeply bright.’ 

Ah ! beneath the witchery of those eyes even the cyni- 
cism of Heraclitus would have vanished, and then he 
could have propounded his abstruse riddles without fear 
of not being understood. 

“ Who can resist the magic power of a cultivated mind ? 
And then, too, a voice of such thrilling loveliness that 
Euterpe, even in her palmiest days, could not have ex- 
celled it ! I tell you, Lee, I have listened for hours enrap- 
tured ! But, by the by, I am still keeping you at the door. 
Of course, I represented myself as having lost the way, 
and apologized for stumbling into the apartment so un- 


22 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 


ceremoniously. An old gentleman then made his appear- 
ance, whom I recognized as an acquaintance. Inviting 
me to enter, the proposal was accepted; and seated, we 
chatted for hours on various topics. When rising to leave, 
they politely requested a repetition of a visit which had 
been mutually agreeable. This, as you may presume, I 
did, time after time, quite cheerfully.” 

“ Beware, Clarence, lest your devotion lead you, like the 
Goldi, into fetichism.” 

“ Lee, were it not for that large heart of yours, I would 
compare you to the icicle, treasuring up your feelings, 
drop by drop, until the whole is congealed.” 

“ Well, well, I know my caution is lost upon one of 
your enthusiastic temperament ; so class this among my 
venial faults, and go on. I am impatient to hear more.” 

“ Only upon one plea — of no more interruptions.” 

Mr. Lee smiled an assent. 

“ During my intercourse with the old gentleman, for- 
merly an attached friend of her father, I heard her sad 
story. She had once been very wealthy ; but the cruelties 
of war having deprived her of her ancient patrimony, she 
now, with a devotion equal to Lamb, was supporting an 
afflicted brother, who had received a severe fall years be- 
fore, which proved detrimental to his mind ; earning their 
daily bread, receiving a miserable pittance for her labors ; 
but amid her daily task, no murmur had ever escaped her 
lips. O Lee! I have never witnessed such nobleness, 
such purity.” 

“ But the name, Clarence, the name ?” 

“ Oh ! that curiosity. As much as man denounces his 
first mother, I do not believe, if the luscious fruit had been 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


23 


placed before him, he could have resisted the tempting 
bait.” 

“ Clarence Heywood !” exclaimed Mr. Lee, in almost 
a sepulchral voice, “ tell me her name.” 

But the excitement of his friend seemed unnoticed. 

“You ask me her name. I can not tell why I should 
be reticent, and yet I am loth to give it up. It is a name 
which is as familiar as household words, and has caused 
many to laughingly trace her lineage back to the one 
whom Byron has immortalized in verse.” 

“ Maidee Chaworth ? Impossible !” 

The hands clasped convulsively over the face ; a terri- 
ble revulsion of feeling shook that strong frame. 

“ Lee,” gasped Clarence Heywood, “ what is the mat- 
ter? Surely you have not been intimately associated 
with Maidee ?” 

Soon friendship and hope seemed ingulfed in a hor- 
rible maelstrom, with no mode of egress ; and here, for the 
present, we leave these two magnanimous natures bowed 
down beneath a weight of conflicting emotions. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Votaress of pleasure, devotee at the altar of Mam 
mon ! did you ever pause amid mouldering ruins, and think 
of the ancient dwellers there, whose hearts throbbed once 
as wildly as your own, whose brains teemed with am- 
bition quite as great, whose labyrinthine maze of per- 
plexities, blended with a sheen of surpassing loveliness as 
fair as the emerald which now stereotypes nature with 
her unmistakable mark ? 

Did you ever think that one as beautiful oft listened to 
the faint whisperings of a love as immutable as your own ? 
That heart-aches have been her inheritance as well as 
yours ? That as many have attempted to storm the cita- 
del of her affections, entreating that its arcanum should 
be unveiled, as have craved a withdrawal of the bulwarks 
within which you have so securely intrenched yourself ? 
— magnanimous natures, humiliated, bowing at a shrine 
of purity, pleading for a love without which poor suffer- 
ing man must die ? 

Ah, you constant dreamer ! life with its past memories, 
life with its present realities, life with its future mystic 
portal yet unopened, beckoning on and still on to happi- 
ness yet unrealized, and, sweet dreamer, perhaps never to 
be ; yet still beguiling, enticing into the belief that some 
wondrous power yet unseen will snatch from parched and 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


25 


burning lips the misery in store, causing the atmosphere 
of your life to be alone redolent with flowers and the 
glamour of sunlight. 

Is it the inundation of a love too great for man to fa- 
thom, that, overwhelmed beneath the weight of the ter- 
rible burden imposed, with no anathema upon His lips — 
the incarnation of holiness — murmured simply when the 
immolation was complete, “ It is finished ” ? 

Is it the finger of a God before whose majesty and 
sublimity perishing mortal falls prostrate, in whose limn- 
ings we trace naught but care and protection ; by whom 
even the little swallow is not forgotten ? Is it, I say, the 
all-Omnipotent breathing in each work of nature his wis- 
dom and power, that reconciles man to the mutability of 
earth, that teaches him to exclaim from the depths of his 
heart, “ All will yet be well ” ? 

Lonely to-night is Maidee Chaworth — lonely in her 
isolation, intrenched amid hope’s “ solitary pyre.” The 
rain patters slowly down, the wind capers wildly, exhibit- 
ing its varied antics amid the tremulous leaflets, wafting 
back on the fitful breeze, “ Ichabod, Ichabod !” The 
soft hands are pressed to the aching temples, to still their 
maddening throbs : the ebbings of a grief long silent gives 
itself vent. 

“ O Henrique !” comes from those pallid lips, “ could 
I have shielded thee from such a death, how gladly would 
this frail frame have been offered as a sacrifice for thee ! 
To see thee pass from earth without one gleam of reason, 
without one word of love to alleviate the secret yearnings 
of an . affection which knows no bounds — to know that 
thou must die, and I be left alone, utterly alone ! ’Tis 


2 6 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 


sweet to work, to labor for thee ; and I could bear all and 
never murmur if thou couldst be spared. Perhaps my 
love has been too sacred, too deep, and God is calling 
my idol home !” 

Borne back upon a breeze which disturbed the window- 
curtain but for a moment, as if in mockery, “ Ichabod ! 
Ichabod !” came to her soul. 

“Yes, yes,” sighed the maiden, “the glory is indeed 
departing ; the last scion of a proud and wealthy race is 
standing upon the brink of eternity, clasping hands even 
now with the spirit- world.” 

The clock gave signal of each waning hour, but the 
pale watcher unheeded its constant warning ; the dismal 
cry of the night-owl, and the lugubrious howl of the guar- 
dian of each household filled the air, as if they knew the 
light would soon be extinguished, and a mortal ushered 
into the presence of his Maker. 

One! Two! Three! Four! The last gasp came, 
and Henrique Cha worth dwelt with his fathers. 

By that departing spirit a fair form was kneeling ; the 
eyes were tearless, but an incense of pure thoughts, of 
agonizing wishes ascended from those bloodless lips ; a 
prayer that she too might mingle with the denizens of 
the spirit-land, and not be left alone with no one to cheer 
the lone hours of labor and toil, looming up in the future/ 
But the picture was too much fraught with expiring hope, 
and a heavy fall, as if the prayer had been granted, alone 
broke the stillness. 

Did peans of joy resound in the heavenly world over 
the woes of a frail being ? or did ministering seraphs, with 
the speed of lightning, reach the crushed mourner, flut- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


2 7 


tering near, whispering of joy yet nestling in some secret 
nook for the apparently lifeless one ? A shadow was 
on the wall. Was it one in whose ear angels had poured 
the sad story of a mortal with like wishes, insulated, pray- 
ing for death ? or was it one within whose breast emotions 
of deep feeling, undying and unquenchable, were burning ? 
The manly form sprang eagerly forward, the gelid lips 
were kissed again and again; but pillowed upon that 
strong arm, the gurglings of grief flowed swiftly on and 
on into the turbid stream, mingling at last with translu- 
cent waters, and at its confluence incalescing beneath the 
burning rays of love. 

The last rites had been performed for the dead, and 
Henrique Chaworth placed in his long, narrow home; 
with naught to disturb but angelic songs, and the efful- 
gence which marked the coming and going as the rapt 
spirit was borne to the “ mansions prepared for the blest,” 
there to be a participant in the immortal joys denied it 
on earth. But these beatific visions, unseen though they 
were, diffused a light and joy over two mourners standing 
near ; for within their hearts lingered religion’s great pro- 
totype — Faith. 

The last brief farewell was spoken in low tones, and the 
visitants turned from the spot which had witnessed heart- 
pangs and heart-yearnings; but Maidee felt, as they 
wended their way slowly back, that the chalice of life 
was not entirely replete with bitterness, as she listened to 
the words of one so long idolized. 

“ Maidee,” said Mr. Lee, “ yours has been no Protean 
love. Tell me now why our engagement was dissolved ?” 

“ Leslie, this has ever been a sad theme for me. I 


28 


MAID EE, TEE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


feared you would abhor the being who could so readily 
crush, without one word of explanation, the hope of years ; 
but it was for my brother’s sake that the sacrifice of an af- 
fection as deep and abiding as your own, was made. I 
feared the poor invalid, in my transcendent love for you, 
might be neglected.” 

“ Maidee, God has accepted the sacrifice, and I can 
also blot out the memory of the pang inflicted. Your 
exoneration is complete.” 

“ I knew your magnanimous nature would forgive, but 
believe me, the oblation proved a Sisyphean task. Love 
had entwined its delicate tendrils so completely around 
me, that in the separation I felt truly, I had forever re- 
nounced happiness; but Henrique’s extreme helplessness 
proved an antidote to further regrets, and I devoted my- 
self exclusively to his comfort.” 

“ Maidee, Clarence Hey wood told me of your trials, of 
your mother’s death during your travels, and of your 
brother’s affliction which immediately ensued ; and then, 
my darling, knowing your self-abnegating disposition, I 
appreciated, for the first time, what you had suffered.” 

The little hand was grasped still more warmly, and the 
speaking eye betraying deep affection, evinced but too 
plainly that two hearts, which had long been estranged, 
had at last found a proper nucleus. 

“What of Clarence Heywood, Leslie — the pure, the 
noble friend ?” 

“ Ah Maidee ! you have spoken but too truly. How 
rare, amid the filth and rubbish of this world, to find such 
disinterested friendship as he bestows. There is a ‘ mys- 
terious cement* which has ever bound us together; a sa- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


2 9 


cred link — a chain which has remained unbroken for 
years. When I told him of our love, without hesitancy, 
he nobly renounced all attempts, for the future, to gain 
your affection, promoting all my efforts for a reunion — 
promising that my daughter should be well cared for, dur- 
ing my absence.” 

Smiles, like glad sunbeams spread themselves over her 
hitherto saddened features. 

“ Then you have a daughter, Leslie ? How much I shall 
love her.” 

“ She is a noble child, but rather mature for her years ; 
indeed, she seems to have emulated Hypatia’s example. 
With a mind teeming with brilliant thoughts, I have fear- 
ed, at times, her fiery imagination would prove an ignis 
fatuus, in whose mephitic atmosphere she might be 
wrecked. But under your guidance, Maidee, with you 
as cicerone in her daily walks, I shall fear no more.” 

The trembling “ Thank you !” betrayed how much the 
compliment was appreciated. 

How sweet to lean upon this palladium of pure man- 
hood ; to feel his arms encircling her, with the words ut- 
tered in the softest cadence, “ All my own, precious Mai- 
dee; entirely my own!” still lingering in her ear. To 
hear the happy allusions made to “ our home” — she, the 
isolated, forsaken one, a few days before, now enveloped 
in an aureola of happiness ; nimbus rays flitting near the 
once care-worn face, brightening and purifying the fur- 
rowed marks, rendering her radiantly beautiful. 


CHAPTER V. 


Within nature’s fairy archive, upon a rustic bench — 
the latter a freak of nature — reclined Marian, book in 
hand, clasped by the daintiest of fingers, relishing keenly 
the witchery of each sylvan shade, and the delicious 
fresco of the morning clouds, watching the pearly drops 
of dew as they coquettishly kissed each tiny flower, then 
sank gently into the earth, which opened her parched and 
burning receptacles, burying them forever from view. 

The pet canary, the little anchoritess in nature’s eyrie, 
released for a short time from its caged home, chanted its 
morning orisons in spontaneous outbursts, as if, in the in- 
troductory song, it would give thanks to the great Giver 
of all good for even temporary freedom ; and, Cleopatra 
like, conscious of its bewildering beauty and of the mag- 
netic charm of its little lays, it wished to assert its queen- 
ship over the warblers of the forest. 

Peeping into the castellated arcanum of womanhood, 
Marian beholds alone in the arena, the glittering gold, 
without being cognizant of the quicksands beneath by 
which many a thread of happiness has been severed. 
Smiling sweetly at the words, “ My child,” which fall from 
loving lips — a type, they think, of the present, but which 
she is conscious, is only symbolical of the past. Yet how 
gladly we note the changes which months of contentment 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


31 


have produced ; each delicately-chiseled feature, indelible 
pencilings of the great beauty which is the common in- 
heritance of southern climes. 

Yes, notwithstanding the indolence which is the usual 
concomitant of an atmosphere so enervating, beauty un- 
paralleled, intellect the brightest and most genial, is of 
indigenous growth; and how justly, years ago, were 
Southern sons and Southern daughters pronounced the 
“ true noblesse ” by one of the liberal literati of Northern 
soils. 

With lofty aspirations, purity of souls corresponding 
with the precious caskets, is it strange that from “ a tab- 
let of unutterable thoughts” a few gems should be culled 
and raised by trembling hands to the Supreme Being who 
has fashioned them, invoking with the descending bene- 
diction, an amulet whose intrinsic worth shall preserve 
them from the Macchiavellian policy which threatens to 
entomb the manhood of the South, by forcing upon her 
sons and daughters an equality with a menial race, who 
are scarce worthy of the primordial thralldom from which 
they have been emancipated ? 

Marian opened her book, and commenced reading. 

“ Strange,” she exclaimed aloud, “ that the book should 
have opened at this passage.” 

“ ‘ The past but lives in words : a thousand ages 
Were blank, if books had not evoked their ghosts, 

And kept the pale, unbodied shades to warn us 
From .fleshless lips ?’ 

repeated Mrs. Lee as she advanced to Marian. “And 
what is it, that my little truant’s sapient voice pronounced 
so strange ?” 


32 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 

“ Remarks on genius, mamma, in Carlyle’s Schiller, 
which brought you so visibly before me, for I think you 
follow its precepts in all things.” 

“ Ah ! read it, Marian.” 

“ ‘ Genius, even in its faintest scintillations, is the “ in- 
spired gift of God,” a solemn mandate to its owner to 
go forth and labor in his sphere, to keep alive “ the sa- 
cred fire” among his brethren, which the heavy and 
polluted atmosphere of this world is forever threatening 
to extinguish. Woe to him if he neglect this mandate, 
if he hear not its small, still voice ! Woe to him if he 
turn this inspired gift into the servant of his evil or ig- 
noble passions ; if he offer it on the altar of vanity, if he 
sell it for a piece of money ! ’ ” 

“ And why, Marian, did your mind dwell at the mo« 
ment upon me ?” 

“ Because, mamma, Mr. Heywood spoke so frequently 
of your writings ; your beautiful metaphors and exqui- 
site imagery. I did not know your nom de pliane, con- 
sequently have never knowingly read any thing of yours ; 
but the praises of one so gifted as Mr. Heywood is, I 
think, sufficient encomium.” 

“ Yes, my child; many expressions, like ‘misty stars,’ 
had long lain dormant; musical thoughts floating in 
wild confusion which required tangible shapes, and I 
determined to give these 

* airy nothings 

A local habitation and a name.’ 

I had often dipped the wings of fancy in the stream of 
literature, but simply for my own amusement. Sheer 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


33 


poverty drove me at length to publication. The thought 
that I must mingle amid the great Babel for my daily 
bread was not an agreeable sensation, by any means. 
The would-be iconoclasts, worshiping trembling genius 
to-day, defaming on the morrow, who always antedate 
their opinions ere the clear, practical critique can pro- 
nounce judgment, cast a dark pall over my literary as- 
pirations ; but then circumstances forced me to do 
something. There was Henrique, pale, weak, helpless — 
calling forth all of the tender emotions of my nature. 
I could have taught music, but alas ! it was in unison 
with latent poesy. My Caaba, which could not be un- 
veiled to the beginner, whose jarrings might lacerate its 
sacred precincts, causing its chords to bring forth discor- 
dant wails, at which even Orpheus might shudder ; elimi- 
nating bitter streams from fountains which had hitherto 
only given forth sweetness. 

<c I felt that the autumn of my life had truly come. Tears 
congealed upon my cheeks as I dwelt upon the Titanic dif- 
ficulties, and the little sympathy in store for the laborer. 
Indomitable energy urged me on. A mere tyro in learn- 
ing, I had many misgivings ; but I knew that indefatigable 
perseverance and study would accomplish almost any thing. 
What right had I to fold my hands calmly, admitting no 
claims upon my efforts, causing ennui , with its sirocco 
blasts to pass over me, blighting the intellect which phre- 
nologists had told me many times God had stamped upon 
my brow, when, by a little exertion, I could disseminate 
a gem which, springing upward, budding and blooming, 
might drop from its branches seeds which would fructify 
into unutterable happiness ?” 


34 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


“You spoke of phrenology, mamma; what think you 
of its dogmas ?” 

“ Marian, I never meet with a genuine phrenologist to- 
ward whom my enthusiastic temperament does not yearn- 
ingly reach forth, longing to clasp him by the hand, and 
bid him God speed in his teachings. It is alone the scio- 
lists in this great science who accumulate for it lasting in- 
i' ury. Works on phrenology should have a sacred niche 
in every library; its truths ought to be promulgated 
throughout the length and breadth of this broad land; 
and Wells's Phrenological Journal, in my opinion, should 
be read by every fireside, and fully discussed with the 
youth of the country, inculcating its noble principles in 
their susceptible minds, ere they are warped by prejudice 
or arrogant opinions. 

“ It is indeed owing to a phrenologist, and an incident 
which occurred years ago, that my thoughts turned upon 
authorship, when poverty grasped me in her chilling at- 
mosphere. If you are not weary, I will relate the circum- 
stance.” 

“ Do, if you please, mamma; you know I am always a 
happy listener when you are the speaker.” 

“ Indeed, Marian, you are becoming quite a flatterer.” 

“ Oh ! no ; not a flatterer — only an appreciator of your 
intrinsic worth.” 

Mrs. Lee kissed the sweet lips affectionately. 

“ I believe you are sincere, Marian. That lovely mouth 
is a stranger to falsehood. Years ago, before war had de- 
secrated and pillaged our beautiful South, a merry, happy 
group, visitants at one of the most fashionable summer re- 
sorts upon the sea-shore, were busily engaged in collecting 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


35 


shells, sea-weeds, and mosses for future curiosities. They 
were of the 'elite of our sunny clime. Wearied at length, 
they gradually assembled themselves upon the edge of a 
canyon, an anomaly in nature, formed perhaps in the past, 
by some terrible cataclysm, but an antithesis to the spark- 
ling, sandy beach, which proved quite a relief to the eye. 
There, beneath the dense foliage, we enjoyed the lovely 
aqua-marine of the waters, its low moan lulling the whole 
party into quietude — enchaining, as it were, by the song of 
a siren — obliterating temporarily the loves, sorrows, and 
enmities of life. 

“ Suddenly, a tall, gaunt figure came in our midst ; a 
tiara, made of aquatic weeds, interspersed with flowers of 
every hue, encircled her forehead ; a long tunic, clasped 
in folds at the waist by a fantastic belt, covered her person. 
Wild shrieks from the timid, frowns from the brave, greet- 
ed her appearance ; but I was gratified, for my love of the 
marvelous had fresh food with which to nourish it. . I 
seemed to behold ‘ Norna of the Fitful Head’ before me, 
loosened from her shackles in the ethereal world, to terrify 
man or teach man his duty, I knew not which. Singling 
me out in the gay throng, she came in rapid strides toward 
me, and seizing my hand, she turned eagerly to the palm, 
and asked if I would know my fate ? I replied in the 
affirmative. The finger was raised ominously. ‘ Maidee 
Chaworth,’ came forth in guttural tones, ‘ heed the voice 
of one who wishes thee well. Talents of no common kind 
are yours ; with them, you can accomplish any thing ; an 
exuberance of joy is now your part; enjoy its buoyancy 
while you can, for a dark, dark chasm lies in advance ; its 
fitful shadows breathe of sorrows almost annihilating in 


3 ^ 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


their power — but ah ! I trace a bridge, weak, ready to 
break beneath a heavier footfall, but which yours passes 
over safely ; but the meridian of your life culminates in 
such happiness ! such happiness ! ’ 

“ She dropped my hand, and turned smilingly to another 
group ; our long-loved bent over, and whispered in my 
ear, 4 All is true, darling ; but the sorrow — that we will blot 
out.’ I smiled, and watched the weird figure as she con- 
tinued her mission ; now weaving a garland of flowers 
near some sensitive shrinking plant, which, like the modest 
violet, lies hidden until the brush and wildwood are torn 
aside, revealing in its place of concealment marvelous 
beauty, passing 

(( ' Their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts 

Whose beatings are too gentle for the world. ’ 

Then, while the carnation tinged the cheek of the trem- 
bling listener, she would read in the language of these lit- 
tle flowerets an episode of such inimitable sweetness, pic- 
turing a lovely cottage home, upon whose cantaliver the 
honeysuckle and Chinese westeria had placed their grace- 
ful tendrils, clinging for the support which their fragrance 
and beauty entitled them to ; speaking of the tenderness 
and love which would be hers, reading it in the counte- 
nance of the manly form, upon whom the fair one leaned 
with all of the artlessness of childhood. 

“We read in those trenchant, stern features that she 

“ Would not flatter Neptune for his trident; 

Or Jove for his power to thunder.” 

Her sophistry caused many a cheek to blanch, and I 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


37 


shuddered for the fair ones as she would speak to them 
of little ripples of affection opening within their hearts, 
which would be unrequited. 

“ Sadly, she prophesied the hurling of the pennoncelli of 
our country from the hearts of millions of Americans — 
idle forebodings, we thought them; truisms, the future 
proclaimed. Then vanishing as suddenly as she came, 
casting her weird spell over almost all of the group. 

“ Upon me the impressions were, for the time, epheme- 
ral; but I thought much over them when the realization 
came. 

“ One in our midst, with whom age had dealt leniently, 
only touching his long-flowing beard and hair with the 
frosts of winter, leaving his spirits gayer and happier, if 
possible, than in his youth, marking the sadness on some 
brows from her words, introduced a phrenologist within 
our little circle, presuming he would prove a psychiatry, 
which would soon banish all thoughts of gloom. 

“A crowd is ever vacillating, swayed by each passing 
breeze, and soon we were talking merrily over his facetious 
remarks and home-thrusts. 

“ To the avaricious, he smilingly spoke of the unloved 
life and unregretted death which would be his, did he not 
curb his ruling passion ; to the literary aspirant, he gave 
words of encouragement which drew forth many a happy 
smile ; to the melancholy of temperament, he spoke of 
the importance of mirth and laughter ; and ridiculed the 
power of the fortune-teller, who presumed to lift the veil 
of futurity, tracing in our surroundings her great power 
to read the destiny, which she would fain persuade us 
was ours.” 


38 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST. 


“ Bravo ! my dear wife ; you shall have the premium 
for your graphic scene.” 

“ Is it not a truthful one, Leslie ?” 

“ Certainly. Had Marian been a participant, she could 
not have realized it more vividly.” 

“ Ah papa ! were you there ?” 

“ Yes, dear one ; who, but myself, could have whispered 
those words to my precious wife ?” 

He drew the hands of his wife and daughter within 
his own. 

“ And, papa ” 

“What, Marian?” 

“Must we not verify the statement of the fortune- 
teller ?” 

“ With your help, darling. I know your mother thinks 
we can.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


“ O Leslie ! come quickly and tell me what singular 
anomaly this is — some slight claim, undoubtedly, upon 
the anthropoid race, but more of the monkey than the 
'man. The eccentricities of dress are truly laughable — 
hat, umbrella-shape; boots, large enough for a grand- 
father; making the piteous object a miserable pedestrian.” 

Mr. Lee and Marian sprang eagerly forward. 

“ Unfortunate child !” said Mr. Lee in saddened tones, 
a she is an unfading monument of that terrible fiat of a 
just God, ‘ visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the 
children unto the third and fourth generation of them 
that hate me.’ It is poor Maggie Dickson, wearing the 
impress of a father’s diabolical habits upon her brow, 
from her infancy — transmitted by a parent not worthy 
of the name; more an object, indeed, for the rolling 
wheels of Juggernaut than a companion for a lovely, sen- 
sitive woman.” 

Mrs. Lee sighed. 

“ One would scarcely recognize in her, a sentient being ; 
but by careful culture and training she might improve. 
Think you not, so ?” 

“ I can scarcely hope so, Maidee. In the first place, 
there is not the slightest prospect of her surroundings 
undergoing a change while her father lives ; her mother 


40 


MAID EE, TEE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


would be capable of rearing her children well, were she 
not inundated with trouble. In days gone by, Mrs. Dick- 
son and her children called forth the charitable sym- 
pathy of Marian’s mother ; but for years I have lost sight 
of them. Dr. Dickson commanded at one time, the en- 
tire practice of this neighborhood. A nascent love of 
wine finally proved his ruin. One by one his patrons 
dropped off. When the influence of the miserable narco- 
tic subsided, he would spend his time vainly searching his 
pharmacopoeia for some preparation which would prove 
a panacea for burning stomachs and unquenchable thirsts. 
They have one daughter, the facsimile of her mother, a 
refined creature, born before the pabulum of her father’s 
life was alcohol., 

“ Mrs. Dickson and Ida were ever the unwilling reci- 
pients of the bounties bestowed by the philanthropist, and 
they would have long since, by their labors, cast off in- 
digence, had not their miserable pittance been used by 
another in his ephemeral enjoyments. Perhaps I am 
wrong in manifesting so little sympathy with the inebriate ; 
but when I behold man casting love — the wealth of 
home — pure principles, the palladium of manhood, into 
an unpurified crucible, whose fiery furnace throws out 
alone his tocsin for death, I confess the bitterest thoughts 
are engendered. Man, ‘ whose rainbow empire is the 
mind,’ its brilliant lamp soon to be extinguished if not 
carefully shielded from gairish day, with its extraneous in- 
fluences. 

“ Remember the wonderful power with which the benefi- 
cent Divinity has blessed us ; think of the Titan aspira- 
tions of a Franklin — pinched by poverty, plunging un- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


41 


dauntedly amid the thick briers which infested his path- 
way, erasing from his lexicon the word ‘ failure ’ ! See him 
with the key in his hand, attached to a string and kite, 
watching with eagerness the revelations of that terrible 
thunder-storm, as the kite swayed to and fro in mid-hea- 
ven, disclosing to his penetrating vision the mysticisms of 
electricity! Puerile act it might have been deemed by 
some at the time, as he dallied with the little key, but 
leading to a discovery which has proven one of man’s 
greatest safeguards. 

“ Think of a Galileo, who in the lonely midnight hour, 
conning a task which the starry heavens illuminated, as- 
serting in the light of day scientific theories which drew 
forth anathemas, but to which he still clung with the 
greatest tenacity. 

“ Think of a Milton, the sightless orbs enlisting deep 
sympathy, his grand, majestic nature battling unshrinking- 
ly amid the vicissitudes of life, in whose emanations all 
nations trace the potent intellect and the unyielding piety. 

“ But faithful laborers in the vineyard, who tremble not 
before duty’s stern dictates, your name is Legion. What 
more sad, then, than to see 

“ The outward form decay, 

A soul of genius glimmered through the clay ; 

Genius has so much youth, no care can kill, 

Death seems unnatural, when it sighs, ‘ Be still.’ ” 

“ And what is the inebriate with his moria expression but 
dead to all former associates — a death to his friends far 
more horrible than the death which leads to realms of im- 
mortality ? 


42 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST; OR , 

“ I read a statement the other day, a quotation from a 
French medical journal, which caused my blood to curdle, 
at the thought that man should so universally allow his fa- 
culties to be blunted. It said, ‘ Every nation, savage or 
civiilized, seems to have its intoxicating drug. Siberia has 
its fungus; Turkey, India, and China have their opium; 
Persia, India, and Africa, from Morocco down to the 
Cape of Good Hope, and even the Indians of Brazil, 
have their hemp and hasheesh ; India, China, and the Eas- 
tern Archipelago have their betel and betel pepper ; the 
islands of the Pacific have their daily hava ; Peru and Bo- 
livia have their eternal cocoa; New-Granada and the 
chains of the Himalaya their red thorny apple ; Asia, 
America, and the whole world, perhaps, patronize tobac- 
co; England and Germany use immense quantities of 
stimulating beer or ale ; Ireland and Scotland use whisky ; 
France, Italy, and Spain, etc., use wines to intoxication.” 

The painfully slow efforts made by Maggie to ascend 
the marble steps arrested Mr. Lee’s attention. The fami- 
ly met her at the door. 

“How are you, Maggie?” said Mr. Lee, extending his 
hand. 

“ O Mr. Lee ! mother says do come ; she believes she 
and Ida are dying.” 

“ Dying, Maggie ! and your progress up the avenue, so 
slow ?” 

“ I can not help it, sir ! I can not help it ! They will 
make me wear father’s old boots, and I defy any one to go 
any faster. Oh ! you all talk as you please in your grand 
homes, but nobody thinks of poor Maggie when she’s 
starving.” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


43 


“ Starving, Maggie !” exclaimed all in the same breath; 
“ do you want your breakfast ?” 

“Yes, I should think I did, when I haven’t eaten any 
thing in a day or two so much kindness causing the 
poor voice to tremble a little. 

“ Yes, I was mighty glad when they told me to come 
up here. I knew Mrs. Lee — but this is not Mrs. Lee, or 
she’s changed a heap since I saw her last giving a 
long stare. 

Tears sprang to Marian’s eyes, and she hastened away 
for the wished-for food, hoping to conceal her emotions 
before one who had made so many sacrifices to brighten 
her pathway ; and not unsuccessfully, her heart had 
reached. When she returned, Maggie was relating with 
great earnestness the hardships she had endured since she 
had left Mr. Lee’s vicinity; and how her mother had 
prayed to come back to Mrs. Lee. 

While the child was devouring the food, the family were 
preparing such delicacies as they thought the invalid might 
require. 

The carriage came to the door ; and Mr. and Mrs. Lee 
entering it with Marian, invited Maggie to follow. 

“ No, no !” she almost shrieked, “ you don’t catch me 
in there, where I can’t get a breath of air ; but I will ride 
on this high place up in front, if you will let me.” 

Mr. Lee, much amused at her conduct, assented ; and, 
bidding the driver go rapidly on, they were soon in front 
of a miserable hovel in a barren field, one lonely patriarch, 
a giant oak, its sole shade. 

A single glance, upon their entrance into the hut, con- 


44 


MAID EE) TEE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


vinced Mr. Lee that food was no longer an essential to 
the cadaverous-looking figures before him. 

“ Oh ! they have come,” said Mrs. Dickson ; “ but I 
can not see them. What is the matter with my eyes ?” 

A spasm of pain almost deprived her of utterance. 
Pouring some blackberry cordial into a glass, Mrs. Lee 
raised the feeble being ; and, placing it to her lips, she 
drank it with avidity. Reviving a little, she continued, 

“ Alas ! Mr. Lee, your family know but too well that 
my brief life has been filled with pangs. I am glad the 
past requires not rehearsing now ; for I would forget, if 
possible. Oh ! to have been educated with care, and 
then die in such a manner, and in such a place. Why is 
it ? Why is it ?” 

Tears coursed down the cheeks of the listeners ; for the 
being before them plainly indicated the refining influences 
of an early life. 

“ But, my poor Maggie ! Mr. Lee ; you will all take 
care of her for me ?” 

“ Rest assured we will, dear Mrs. Dickson.” 

“ God bless you for the promise ! Now I can die with- 
out a murmur, since she can be under Mrs. Lee’s care. 
But, poor child, I have not done my duty by her. I 
could not. I was compelled to work so hard — so hard. 
Had it been Ida ” 

She ceased speaking. Again was wine given to relieve 
the exhaustion ; but the lips were still motionless. Life, 
with its solemnities and its mutations, was fast passing 
from her view. What were sublunary things in compari- 
son with the bright vista opening before her ? 

“ O mother !” said a feeble voice by her side, suddenly 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


45 


arousing from her torpor, opening her large, liquid eyes, 
whose beauty was strangely at variance with the care- 
worn face, “ I am so glad I am going to die. Maggie 
will have more food now.” 

What a terrible thought! Who knew the sufferings 
that had incased that fair child from her birth — that had 
rendered her home a dark, dark spot, without even one 
sweet oasis of happiness to which she could revert in her 
dying moments ! 

The cold, clammy drops indexed the waning life of the 
two ; and he, the author of all this misery, sat there in his im- 
becility, apparently unconscious that the missile which his 
conduct had sent, had, by slow excisions, killed, displaying 
but too plainly the habitue amid the haunts of the drun- 
kard. 

“ ‘ The gods love the good too well to allow them to 
remain long on earth,’ ” repeated Mrs. Lee, as she gazed 
mournfully on the two shrouded forms. “ How appropriate 
seems this apothegm now ! Here is Maggie, obliterating 
from her mind, with scarce an effort, the remembrance 
of her great loss, by contrasting it with the inexpressible 
happiness of being able in the future to gratify her ali- 
mentiveness; but 

“ 1 A pebble in the streamlet scant 

May turn aside the mighty river ; 

A dewdrop on the baby-plant 

May dwarf the giant oak forever.* 

God grant she may not be so dwarfed in intellect and feel- 
ing, that my feeble efforts may not prove efficacious in up- 
rooting the foibles, with which she is impregnated. And 


46 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST 


the father, probably to be the next victim in the plot, un- 
able to rally, even for a moment from his lethargic state !” 

“ Yes,” replied Mr. Lee ; “ and how applicable would 
be the motto of the Carbonari, ‘ Revenge upon the 
wolves who devour the lambs/ in the home of the drun- 
kard. Its misery oppresses me !” 

“ Oh !” said Marian, when alone in her sanctum that 
night, “ why is it that at the acme of happiness, when life 
is beginning to wear a new aspect, the drapery of golden 
and crimson leaves must be drawn suddenly away from 
the sacred necropolis of the spirit-world, revealing the fu- 
tility of earthly hopes and aspirations ? I fancy to-night 
my feelings must be akin to those of Scipio when in the 
midst of his great triumph — when Rome, forming for his 
magnificent ovation a superb pillar which was surmounted 
alone with adulations, placed by his side in the gilded 
chariot a base menial, who, when the plaudits of the po- 
pulace were at their height, whispered in his ear, ‘ Remem- 
ber, Scipio, thou art but mortal.’ ” 

Lowly the knee was bent in prayer for strength to bat- 
tle with her great sorrow, and that she might not appear 
ungrateful to those who so loved her ; and echo answered, 
“ Why ungrateful ? Should the love of the denizens of 
earth render the ties which bind us to the tomb less dear ? 
Ah ! no. Man could not wish it. Woman, never!” 


CHAPTER VII. 


“ Winter, with all his rising train, 

Vapors and clouds and storms,” 

had come; all the lovelier for ushering in incarnadine 
lights, refulgent firesides, in whose beds of crimson the 
old man beholds pencilings of a glorious aurora, inarch- 
ing the past with his present, and upon whose silver tide 
he soon floats, silencing the wailing winds, casting off the 
sear and yellow leaves of autumn, and the sparkling cas- 
cade which had icicled beneath old winter’s touch, his 
snows incalescent under the radiant influence of the sun, 
beholding alone the happy home of the spring-time of 
life ; his household gods reinstated, in whose presence the 
sacred dead, released from their dismal shrouds and pallid 
looks, are, as in other years, resplendent with the charms 
which had first captivated him. 

But to-night Poplar Grove is wide awake with many 
voices, and a wild, mysterious music, as if in its rainbow 
hues it is determined that the diaphanous rays of a “ silver 
lining” should alone reflect joy. 

Ah ! the first party ! Who knows the rapturous emotions 
which fill the heart of a maiden, as passing from the im- 
maculate boudoir of girlhood, the sacred trysting-place of 
glorious thoughts and blissful musings, she lingers fondly 
upon its threshold, as if loth to leave its dear precincts ? 


4 8 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


It was Christmas night, and, mingling with the happy 
group, are those in every stage of life. Here, with the 
sunny curls and cheeks of carnation, were childhood’s re- 
presentatives, assimilating with the golden tints of nature 
and the delicate mechanism of each tiny plant in the 
garden of life, reminding the gazer of “ the winglets of 
the fairy humming-bird.” Mrs. Lee had so earnestly 
pleaded that they should be there ; that at Marian’s first 
party no little hearts should be baptized in acrid waters, 
but that all, all should be happiness. She wanted her 
pets to be overwhelmed in a flood of joy which would 
apotheosize in their young hearts the remembrance of 
the Son of God, in whose rills of love, their early lives 
had been consecrated. She knew no one could object 
to the proximity of these lovely cherubs, luminous with 
sunshine, whose very smiles would expel nascent evil; 
if they did, who cared ? It would be only those, whose 
bosoms mirrored volcanoes from which issued daily a 
thick lava of malice, envy, and hatred. 

That matchless reasoning convinced, and these astute 
beings, cunning in the midst of their very artlessness, 
like the mocking-birds, constantly warbling their little 
notes, links of some inanimate song in the octogenarian, 
which yields no sounds unless touched by congenial vi- 
brations, but in their young hearts a continual utterance, 
at one moment plaintive, at the next joyous peals which 
awake their constant echoes. 

Marian gazed over this brilliant parterre of intellect, 
beauty, and fashion, concealing beneath a delicate cob- 
web texture a facial of thought and feeling with an en- 
tablature oftentimes of deep duplicity, yielding readily to 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


49 


the corrosive influence of Momus, and wondered why this 
great variety of sensitively-organized beings could not 
banish evil, and assume once more primeval simplicity 
and purity. 

“ What a new aspect,” she sighed, “ life would wear if 
all would cast a mantle of kindness over the defects of 
others !” 

“ Let me claim you for a while, Miss Marian ; I would 
introduce you to the gay world,” said the happy voice of 
Mr. Gardiner, as he drew her unresisting hand within his 
own. 

“ Believe me, I will be more than delighted,” replied 
Marian. “ You have relieved me from both an agreeable 
and disagreeable meditation.” 

“ Indeed ! Then I am quite welcome in some respects, 
if not in others. But I do not intend quarreling to- 
night ; for such beauty and loveliness must not remain in 
this quiet nook.” 

M How like you ! I can almost imagine the old days 
back again, when you, hand in hand with your petite 
sister and pet Marian, as you then called us, encouraging 
all of our infantile sports, aiding us while weaving sweet 
May songs ; and at last, lost in wonder and astonishment 
at abstruse utterances, charming compliments, and bril- 
liant repartee, our silly prattle hushed in our eagerness to 
comprehend what our inexperienced minds could not un- 
ravel, but which your patience and kindness soon eluci- 
dated. Ah ! those were happy days, ere the rhythmical 
flow of life had met with any interruptions.” 

“ True, but not more agreeable than the present. A 
phantasmagoria of the past is always pleasant ; but I have 


50 MAIBEE , THE ALCHEMIST; OR , 

fancied the last few weeks clothed with a novel charm; 
there is an absence in my being, it is true, of the wild, 
gleesome feelings which were once daily visitants, but 
passing before my mind is a kaleidoscope of delightful 
sensations hitherto foreign to my nature. I have a secret, 
however, to reveal some time soon, which will give you 
the source of my joy.” 

“ Of course, as of old with you. 4 Give the imagina- 
tion fair play, and a single hint may beget a picture/ ” 
laughed Marian. 

Mr. Gardiner bowed low, acknowledging the applica- 
bleness of the quotation — appreciating at the same time, 
the spirit of mischief in the mirthful eyes before him. 

“ Miss Marian, by a prerogative which friendship ever 
claims, I brought an old and cherished friend — although 
unknown to your family — here to-night. Do not be as- 
tonished at the idiosyncrasies of his character. As to his 
faults, if he has any, they are like the infusoria, so minute 
that nobler traits cancel them. In conversation, both his 
phraseology and diction are unrivaled ; but his inexpres- 
sible charm consists in earnestness of soul and feeling — 
a hidden fire breathing in each tone and sentiment. His 
father’s murder during his absence in Europe proved a 
shock from which he has never entirely recovered, and at 
times I trace upon his countenance an effort, as it were, to 
fathom the undefinable.” 

“ Murder ! By whom ?” 

“ It was rumored then — for as yet nothing positive is 
known — that the crime was committed by one who had 
long been a beneficiary of the family ; his motives, the re- 
latives can not divine.” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


51 

“ Horrible ! What evidence does the suspicioned par- 
ty leave of guilt ?” 

“ None, except his immediate withdrawal from their 
protection, and a slight clue which Mahon fancies he has, 
but which as yet, he will not promulge. For years, Ma- 
hon searched for the culpable party ; but finding all efforts 
fruitless, he commenced devoting himself assiduously to a 
profession as the only panacea for a frenzied mind ; en- 
joying the 'eclat that distinguished talents call forth, alone, 
I presume, as the witchery of ladies’ smiles pass un- 
heeded. 

“ We were college mates ; in our early friendship dis- 
guisements of all kinds were ignored, and except in one 
instance this rule has been observed ; but on that point 
he preserves an impenetrable silence. It is with regard 
to a box which rests in an alcove in his apartment, from 
whose highly ornamented architrave a damask curtain 
hangs. Upon first view, my thoughts involuntarily turn- 
ed on Poe’s ‘ Oblong Box’ — Wyatt’s wild, hysterical laugh 
ringing in my ear, haunting me for days. Accidentally, 
the curtain was raised, and the secreted objects stood be- 
fore me, living testimonials of a gloomy mystery ; but the 
look of pain that met my inquiries caused me inwardly 
almost to blast an idle curiosity inherent in my being ; 
and in order to hide the confusion to which this gave 
birth, the various objects of veriu , carefully collected dur- 
ing Mahon’s travels, were eagerly sought and minutely 
examined.” 

“ You are certainly, Mr. Gardiner, pursuing the proper 
course to enhance his charms in the eyes of the ladies, 
incasing him within so much mystery.” 


52 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 

“ He does not require that to augment his attractions; 
for if report speaks truly, he is almost too fascinating now, 
with the fair sex.” 

“ Then I, for one, shall remain unscathed — declining 
an introduction, even with the prospect of being consider- 
ed rude in my own home hanging over me. Oh ! who is 
that beautiful girl with one of the delicate hues of the 
iris tinging her cheek ?” 

Mr. Gardiner colored slightly. 

“Do you indeed admire her ? We think her exqui- 
sitely lovely ; it is one of my sister’s friends.” 

“ Ah ! Then I no longer wonder at ‘ the source of 
your joy.’ ” 

“ Strange, Miss Marian, the power woman has of pene- 
trating man’s secrets. I admit I have nothing now to 
conceal, and can alone ask that, for the sake of years of 
friendship, you will 

“ 4 Take my flower, and let its leaves 
Beside thy heart be cherished near.’ ” 

“ Believe me, Mr. Gardiner, I shall only be too happy 
to do so. For whom is she in mourning?” 

“ For a brother — one who, in his untimely death, be- 
queathed to his country the memory of genuine worth, 
and a life which, though impotent to save, perished — 
fighting bravely, struggling for pure principles, which he 
could not suppress, because his conscience forbade it. 
The sacrifice proved for naught ; but man should ever dis- 
charge his duty unwaveringly and unflinchingly, and such 
a being was Harry Heywood : loving the inspiring in- 
fluences of a quiet home, yet trampling upon affection’s 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


53 


ties, casting all behind — extinguishing them for the time 
in the lowering clouds which threatened his loved South. 

“ I can never forget the evening Lilian Heywood 
heard of his death-wound. We had been eagerly watch- 
ing for the dear old Eve?iing News — ever a welcome 
messenger to the parents and sisters of the toil-worn sol- 
diers. The little errand-boy approached, but too slowly 
for Lilian ; she sprang hastily toward him, and seizing 
the paper, turned to the list of the dead and wounded. 
His name first met her gaze. Raising a countenance 
portraying the incurable lineaments of grief, she entreated 
to be carried to her brother. 

“ What could I do ? A confederate soldier’s entrance 
into the enemy’s lines was impossible. Finding she 
would not renounce the contemplated trip, I bore her as 
far as possible, then returned with many misgivings to 
our camps.” 

“ She sought for him for months. At last, in a lonely 
spot, amid rocks covered with irregular groups of lichen, 
of greenish and yellowish color, a small slab was found, 
placed there hurriedly by a kind comrade, with a few 
simple words, revealing the last resting-place of her 
brother. Long a strict optimist, she has prayed unceas- 
ingly for resignation. 

“Alas! how few in the world are cognizant of the 
blighted hopes each secret by-way has witnessed; the 
daily smugglings and intense pleadings at the throne of 
mercy. Did you ever realize, when your heart is gay 
and happy, that within that of your nearest companion, 
perhaps, there is a quiet mourning which can not be 
silenced ?” 


54 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


“ Hush !” almost whispered Marian; “ for one night, at 
least, let me witness happiness without thinking of the 
tomb : its darkness is so terrible. Introduce me to your 
friend. I would forget in her pure presence that the grave 
has been touched upon.” 

“ Lethean waters, then, shall obliterate our sad 
thoughts; or — shall I say it for her? — her elevated 
piety will rob our theme of its gloom.” 

Magnanimous minds readily detect the jewels which 
brighten and purify ; and in their affiliation with congenial 
natures, produce a friendship ripening into unadulterated 
love, overwhelming the mists and exhalations which 
would otherwise corrode and extinguish budding affec- 
tions. Such a union proved Marian’s and Lilian Hey- 
wood’s ; each nobler instinct harmonizing, they soon dis- 
carded all ceremonials, and communed with the enthusiasm 
of long-tried friends. 

The ruined, blighted prospects of the South, the 
universal burden with its people, was soon introduced ; 
but the gloom which pervaded other minds, causing 
many to withdraw beneath a supine cloak of indiffer- 
ence, nestled not in Lilian Heywood’s thoughts and feel- 
ings. During the discussion, turning appealingly to 
Marian, she asked her opinion of dreams. 

“ Dreams ! — a mere vacuity, of course. Why not ask, 
Lilian, my views on chiromancy ?” 

“ I am prepared, Marian, to contend against ramparts 
of incredulity; nevertheless can not refrain from giving 
credence to some of those mysterious revelations that en- 
tertain our exhausted frames — especially when in connec- 
tion with a cherished brother.” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


55 


The lips quivered, and pellucid drops moistened the 
brilliant eyes. In her struggle for composure, the line, 

“ Sweet lips that were hushed with a prayer,” 

withdrew for a moment from Marian’s repertoire of learn- 
ing. 

“ Forgive this temporary weakness, Marian ; it shall 
not occur again. During the war, my brother was 
severely wounded, and died soon after; my mother and 
myself were living alone upon our plantation, when the 
rumor came that twenty thousand of the enemy were 
advancing rapidly. Instantly all was in confusion. I 
had been educated North, and hoped that, were our 
country so unfortunate as to be flooded with the army, 
the proximity of former acquaintances would shield 
from at least brutal treatment. The latter hope, however, 
seemed so meagre and faint that I cast myself in an arm- 
chair, the picture of despair. I knew that were the 
report true, the casualties of war might deprive us ere 
morning of even the means of sustaining life. Finally, 
wearied and exhausted, I sank into a gentle slumber. 
My brother, with God’s holy word clasped in his hand, 
approached me. 6 Lilian,’ he exclaimed, 4 why do you 
weep ? ’ Immediately my sad story was poured forth. 
‘Turn,’ he said, ‘ to the third chapter of Malachi, com- 
mencing with the eleventh verse, and read on through 
the twelfth.’ I did as commanded, and read the follow- 
ing words : 

“ ‘ I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall 
not destroy the fruits of your ground ; neither shall your 
vine cast her fruit before the time in the field, saith the 


56 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / OB , 


Lord of hosts. And all nations shall call you blessed; 
for ye shall be a delightsome land, saith the Lord of 
hosts.’ ” 

“ Need I say, I arose buoyant and happy, determined 
from that time always to rely implicitly upon the protect- 
ing power which, in great wisdom and love, condescended 
to pour this small stream of comfort into the heart of an 
erring wanderer, who had for one moment permitted her- 
self to forget his omnipotence. The promise given in the 
dream was fulfilled. Tidings came on the following morn- 
ing of the withdrawal of the enemy, and during the en- 
tire struggle we rested in perfect security. Do you won- 
der, then, Marian, that I believe the departed are often 
with us, whether waking or sleeping, sent by our heavenly 
Father to soothe and expel evil forebodings ? That, even 
now, this dream returns to me, a gentle whispering ‘ that 
all nations shall yet call us blessed ’ ?” 

“ Truly you have had unmistakable proofs of intima- 
tions from the spirit-world, and I no longer feel surprised 
at your credulity.” 

“ The emancipation of the negro,” said Mr. Gardiner, 
“ I have never regretted. For the benefit of the whites, 
they should have been manumitted ; but not their own. 
The evidence of their unworthiness for liberty is daily 
seen ; stinging poverty, urging upon them the importance 
of labor, and yet it remains unheeded ; they, daily walking 
our streets, stupefied from indolence, watching with avid- 
ity every opportunity to seize what little the whites can 
accumulate.” 

“ I think,” replied Marian, “ we should impress upon 
the youths of our country, the wisdom of the Magian 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


57 


saints, who were compelled to work out their salvation by 
the labors of agriculture.” 

“ Then you, I presume, would instill into the minds of 
the young men, as well as the youths of the South, the 
charming maxim of the Zendavesta, ‘ He who sows the 
ground with care and diligence acquires a greater stock of 
religious merit than he could gain by the repetition of ten 
thousand prayers ’ ?” exclaimed Mr. Gardiner. 

“ Think you not,” pleaded the gentle tones of Lilian 
Heywood, “ a combination of the prayers and labor, 
would have a happier effect, proving more efficacious in 
uprooting any threatened evil ?” 

“ Thank you, Lilian, for recalling us to our duty. We 
would not draw down contumely upon the religion of our 
ancestors. But, earnestly speaking, I have thought, at 
times we must indeed cast off our old aristocratic ideas of 
labor, or take as our motto, ‘ Velis et remis 9 — ready for 
every emergency — for a terrible simoom may soon besom 
our hopes and wishes, ejecting us from the haunts of child- 
hood, leaving us wanderers and homeless.” 

“ Any thing, any thing but deserting the homes of our 
fathers ! That must not be,” said a rich musical voice by 
her side. 

Marian glanced eagerly up, and met a dark, searching 
eye, magnetic in its influences, and whose depths spoke 
of beds rich in genius and talent. 

“ As I am not a pet of society, Gardiner, I claim the 
fulfillment of your promise. Those were the only reasons 
Miss Marian urged, I believe, for not permitting an in- 
troduction.” 

Mr. Gardiner laughed heartily ; but Marian, confused 


58 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST; OB , 

and blushing, wondered secretly how her remarks were 
overheard. The polished, elegant gentleman, by his 
pleasing, graceful manners and conversation, soon con- 
vinced her, however, that the obnoxious words were forgot- 
ten ; or, if remembered, remembered alone in a spirit of 
raillery. 

“Your mother informs me that you are a sweet song- 
stress; may I not hope, in the dismemberment of this 
little circle, I will not be considered reprehensible, and 
that you will sing me one song ?” 

“With pleasure, Mr. Mahon.” 

Marian turned gracefully to the piano. 

“ Her voice was like the warbling of a bird, 

So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear.’' 

Its delicious melody seemed to touch all of the di- 
vine secrets of his soul ; its plaintive vibrations engen- 
dering ecstatic feelings which had not been exhumed 
for long, weary months. 

“ How truly has Pope written, 

“ ‘ Music resembles poetry ; in each 

Are numerous graces which no methods teach, 

And which a master hand alone can reach.’ 

You know not what pleasing reminiscences your voice 
has recalled. It is to me like an echo from the past.” 

“ Have you always been fond of music ?” 

“ Passionately so. To-night, while your soul seemed 
speaking in delightful strains, I thought of the wild me- 
lodies my mother chanted in days gone by, to curb and 
subdue the proud, passionate nature of her son. Your 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


59 


voices assimilate strangely, convincing me of one thing — 
that depth of feeling and a strong poetical being are 
really essential in music, to evoke rapture within the heart 
of the listener.” 

“ Our views harmonize, then, entirely. A soulless na- 
ture should never be a musician.” 

“ Yes, you are right. I can not imagine, indeed, a 
greater happiness than to listen to the grand old pieces 
of Handel, Haydn, Mozart, and other master composers ; 
or to linger enthralled beneath the weird spell cast by 
some grotesque fantasia of Mendelssohn.” 

Hilarious outbursts from the children resounded through 
the room. 

a What can that be, Miss Marian ?” 

“ A delirium of applause from the little ones on account 
of the Christmas-tree, I presume. My mother’s enliven- 
ing spirit permeates all things. Every thing around 
her must, if possible, wear a garment of gayety ; and 
especially for her, from the cradle, as it were, of help- 
less infancy, wells a fountain of pure joy. She believes in 
preserving the customs of the Germans in respect to Christ- 
mas eve.” 

“ The chastity and abiding affection of the ancient Teu- 
tons, their holy belief that a ‘ sanctity and wisdom more 
than human, existed within the heart of their females,’ 
thoughts cherished in the very depths of barbarism, should 
entitle them, it seems to me, to the highest respect, of not 
only their posterity, but all nations, rendering even their 
present customs acceptable to us. 

“ But what do you say to mingling in this wild excite- 
ment ? These sports are ever contagious.” 


6o 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST. 


Marian readily consented, and soon each was busily 
occupied, diving with the most perfect naivete into the in- 
nocent amusements, relieving the burdened tree of its pre- 
cious freight, distributing to each beaming face some little 
gift, previously prepared by the busy hand of Mrs. Lee or 
Marian. 

The tones of glee and mirth hushed ; the echoing foot- 
steps of departing guests silent ; and still Mr. Mahon lin- 
gered, loth to part until the thoughts produced during the 
evening within the heart of Marian had been disentombed 
to his penetrating view. 

“ Would the ‘ pet of society/ ” he inwardly asked, 
“ prove a welcome guest in the future, or would the 
morning’s dawn find him utterly forgotten ?” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ This glorious sunset, bespangling all nature with its 
blood-like rays, clothing it in a crimson livery, transplants 
me once more beneath one of the ‘palaces of nature/ 
grand old Lebanon.” 

“ You require alone, Mr. Mahon, the beautiful anemone, 
dotting the scene, shedding its cheerful hue o’er all things, 
to extend the delusion. Is it not so ?” 

“Yes; you have anticipated me. I was reminded, 
while dwelling on this landscape, of that bright little 
flower which deluges in the East, the entire earth with a 
red glow. Now, to place the great archetype more vivid- 
ly before us, imagine in the distance the unrivaled empo- 
riums of the ancients, indenting the Syrian coasts — their 
magnificent temples wrought with untold labor — palaces 
reared by opulent owners, embellished with lofty domes, 
whose grandeur often excited the cupidity of towering 
ambition; demolished sarcophagi, nestling amid scarlet 
tulips ; fragments of ashlars ; porphyry columns, now de- 
capitated ; the whole but a semblance, as it were, amid 
their present ruin, of the grand architectural beauty which 
once added lustre to the giant undertakings of man.” 

“Yes; and I can almost fancy Lebanon, in her magis- 
terial greatness, smiling down complacently upon those 


6 2 


M A IDEE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OB, 


perishable emblems of the i child of clay/ bearing upon 
her exhilarating breezes the mournful words, 

“ ‘ Go to now, ye rich men ; weep and howl for your 
miseries that shall come upon you. 

“ ‘ Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are 
moth-eaten. 

“ ‘ Your gold and silver is cankered, and the rust of them 
shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as 
it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure together for the 
last days.’ 

“ Truly, Miss Marian, it is a solemn thought to see the 
masters of earth struggling, sacrificing even life oftentimes, 
to surround themselves with the pomp of a gorgeous pa- 
geantry, while the less fortunate acolyte tremblingly bows 
before his shrine, turning to this deformed, hideous Yama, 
that is suddenly thrust into being, as not only the ruler 
and judge of the dead, but of the living; their sacred 
thesaurus in which must be deposited each awakening 
thought.” 

“ I presume then, Mr. Mahon, in its native haunts, you 
frequently examined the scarabaeus ? — the cherished sym- 
bol with the Phoenicians and Egyptians.” 

“ Often, very often ; and, as writers have again and again 
mentioned, they are to be met with on every tomb, 6 carv- 
ed in carnelian or stamped in common pottery.’ From 
childhood, it had been a constant dream that my feet 
should tread that hallowed ground. On reaching Byzan- 
tium, paeans of praise alone, resounded from a surcharged 
heart ; for I knew that in a short time the radii from which 
had emanated all that was holy, would become as familiar 
to me as to the travelers who had preceded, and whom I 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


6 3 


had so often inwardly thanked for the graphic views given 
of a land around which the immaculate Saviour had drawn 
a halo of light, and which the revered prophets of olden 
times had consecrated.” 

“ Did you visit Saida ?” 

“ Yes; although I knew it was then eclipsed by the su- 
periority of Beyrout, I could not pass it ; for it contained, 
to my antique-loving eye, an object of great interest — a 
castle built during the Crusades ; and also, within a mile 
or two of Saida, were the remains of the great Zidon, the 
ruins of which I had been always exceedingly anxious to 
visit. 

“ Zoar, notwithstanding its ancient structures, would not 
have detained me, had it not been for my curiosity to be- 
hold the ‘artificial isthmus 4 * * 7 erected by Alexander the 
Great and his invincible troops during the siege of 
Tyre; then standing beneath its walls, in imagination 
rebuilding that little islet, so securely intrenched amid 
its placid waters — its clear crystal stream laving the 
shore — proudly defiant, resisted the labors of Nebu- 
chadnezzar, but was incapable of baffling the hercu- 
lean efforts of an Alexander. 

“ Many other spots of interest were touched upon, and 
I found those charming lines of Whittier constantly ring- 
ing in my ear, 

4 Blest land of Judea! thrice hallowed of song, 

Where the holiest memories pilgrim-like throng < 

In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, 

On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee. 

With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore. 

Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before ; 


6 4 


MAIDEE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod 
Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. , ” 

“ But, during the entire time, did you not turn long- 
ingly toward Jerusalem?” 

“ Oh ! yes ; and, like the Mohammedan in his weary 
pilgrimage to Mecca, panted to lift the Keswa that con- 
cealed from my hungry, eager eyes relics which even my 
infancy was taught to regard as holy. Joining a mixed 
throng of pilgrims, consisting of Mohammedans, Chris- 
tians, and Jews, we entered, with quickened footsteps, one 
of the four gates of Jerusalem. Carried away by the 
enthusiasm of the crowd, rest seemed impossible until I 
had examined with them the various religious edifices 
and other spots of notoriety. The Church of the Holy 
Sepulchre, erected by Helena ; the place of the Saviour's 
entombment and crucifixion; the Garden of Geth- 
semane, were all visited with those saddened, holy feel- 
ings which such scenes must ever engender. 

“ I stood upon Olivet, and a vast panorama of beauty 
lingered below; vivid descriptions given previously by 
travelers and exquisite gems of poetry chased them- 
selves in rapid succession through my brain, and again, 
while spell-bound and awed, Whittier's lines arose — 

* Oh ! here, with his flock, the sad Wanderer came ; 

These hills he toiled over in grief, are the same ; 

The founts where he drank, by the way-side, still flow, 

And the same airs are blowing which breathed on his brow ; 
And, throned on her hills, sits Jerusalem yet, 

But with dust on her forehead and chains on her feet ; 

For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone, 

And the holy Shekinah is dark where it shone !’” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


<55 


<c And what of Palmyra ? Did not a reminiscence of 
the great Queen obtrude — her isolated home, the charm- 
ing little oasis in the Syrian desert which her presence 
once illuminated — assert its supremacy, urging you to 
surmount all intervening obstacles, to linger awhile amid 
those noble ruins ?” 

“ Oh ! yes ; and on reaching Emesa, the scene of 
Zenobia’s second defeat, I attempted to present a life 
picture before me. Aurelian, flushed with success, stern, 
unrelenting ; by his side, Micapor and those very officers 
who afterwards, through a terrible mistake, proved his 
assassins ; the army clad in all of the gorgeous panoply 
of war, with victory stamped upon every feature ; while 
Zenobia opposite, surrounded by an immense force, buoy- 
ant, although still suffering from sanguinary strife; and 
the unflinching Zabdas, whose swarthy countenance gave 
no evidence of yielding, invincible ; continuing the 
delusion, attending the latter in their rapid flight to 
Palmyra — my sympathies entirely with the sorrow- 
stricken queen, both during the siege and at the sur- 
render, until her pusillanimous love of life betrays the 
lofty soul of Longinus, whose genius had dazzled the 
world, into the hands of an unyielding foe. 

“The heart, saddened, could hardly obliterate this 
revelation of duplicity in one so calculated to win the 
affections of her subjects, by reveling amid the arabesque 
forms which intersperse the pages of the novelist. 

“ In traveling, the delight experienced is often mingled 
with shades of gloom ; for, encircling the debris of what, 
in days gone by, were palatial homes, the white marble 
gleaming in the sun ; rare and exquisite frescoes ; floors 


66 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST; OR, 


inlaid with mosaic, chiefly of jasper and lapis lazuli — the 
latter often exciting the cupidity of the lovers of the 
beantiful — -we find the little swallow ; while within, domi- 
ciled as lord of the mansion, the grim owl rests un- 
disturbed.” 

“ And yet there are moments when I so earnestly wish 
to be a cosmopolitan, to rest my willful eye upon the 
charms of Palestine ; but still — 

“ ‘If my feet may not tread where He stood, 

Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee’s flood, 

Nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed him to bear, 

Nor my knees press Gethsemane’s garden of prayer; 

Yet, loved of the Father ! thy spirit is near 
To the meek, and the lowly, and the penitent here ; 

And the voice of thy love is the same, even now, 

As at Bethany’s tomb or on Olivet’s brow.” 


“Yes; with the spot where the great propagandists of 
our faith so assiduously labored, man should familiarize 
himself. It was within the temple of the Holy Sepulchre 
that I first felt the glamour of an earnest life creeping over 
me ; while watching beings burdened beneath the weight 
of sin, noting their tears of contrition, listening to a re- 
capitulation of the sublime sufferings that were borne for 
our redemption. Are you a professing Christian, Miss 
Marian ?” 

“No; I am too unworthy.” 

“ And why ' ‘ unworthy ’ ? Perhaps you are entertaining 
some erroneous impressions, deeming perfection necessary ; 
thinking before God’s holy temple, the sentence, as in the 
Eleusinian mystery, should be constantly repeated, ‘ Let 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 67 

none enter these holy walls unless he is conscious of a 
pure, innocent mind.’ ” 

“ Indeed you are almost right in your conjectures. I 
am not skeptical — that is impossible; for, as Wenck has 
so truly remarked, one of the sweetest proofs to me of 
Christianity is, that since its inauguration we have not had 
an ‘ Heliogabalus or Commodus, a Nero or Domitian.’ ” 

“ Truly, that alone ‘ is a potent oratory ;’ and had Gib- 
bon, I dare say, heeded historical research, his infidelic soul 
would have experienced some of the Christian’s peace 
and comfort. But to wait for the purity you are seeking — 
alas ! were such necessary, how few could ever consecrate 
themselves unto the service of their Maker — for we har- 
monize strangely ‘ with the whited sepulchres, which, in- 
deed, appear beautiful outward, but within are full of all 
uncleanness.* During one period of my life, an event 
transpired which threatened to extinguish every ray of 
confidence in a religion for which, from childhood’s dawn, 
I had been taught the highest reverence. It is a darken- 
ed hour, to which, even now, I shudderingly refer ; a ter- 
rible hiatus between good and evil, when even the inimi- 
table beauty of the rolling clouds, the most delicate cu- 
muli, seemed transmuted into the hideous ; but above 
this alembic of blackened passions poised my guardian 
angel, fusing the impurities into crystallized gems of count- 
less value. Now, though still delinquent in duty, I often 
silently exclaim, 

u * Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 

From world to luminous world, as far 
As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 

Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, 


68 


MAIDEE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


And multiply each through endless years ; 

One minute of heaven is worth them all.’ 

But I have detained you long — very long, I fear you 
think — in this chilly atmosphere ; and now will bid you 
adieu, as I must return to the city to-night.” 

“You do not contemplate leaving us, Mr. Mahon?” 

“ Yes ; my mother’s commands are ever imperative 
with me. She writes, urging a return to her desolate 
home. You know my visit to Gardiner has extended into 
weeks ; then, too, he marries in a few days ; and I must 
be with him. Will you not attend the wedding ?” 

“No; papa can not leave home at this time; and 
the distance too is so great from here. But as I shall 
have Lilian Heywood so soon as a neighbor, the ab- 
sence from the entertainment scarce inflicts pain.” 

“Your non-appearance will mar my happiness much, 
very much.” 

He spoke in low tones, and tremulously. 

“We were all anticipating your presence, Miss Marian. 
I feel that I can not leave you without making one request, 
and hope you will not deem it premature. Will you not 
permit me to write occasionally, with the prospect of 
having my letters answered?” 

He gazed scrutinizingly into her countenance, as if he 
would read his answer there ; but the drooping eyelids 
were not raised. 

“ I can not decide now, Mr. Mahon ; but promise the 
first note, at least, shall be replied to.” 

“ Thank you,” was the low response, and he was gone. 

She leaned against the beautiful columns, adorned with 
chaste modillions, watching for a few moments his reced- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


69 


ing footsteps; then turned quietly to the library; and 
gazing long and silently into the dying embers, as if she 
were reading some rare scroll replete with life’s destiny, 
a smile flitted over the happy face. 

“ He loves me,” she murmured; “ or if not, why that 
emotion at parting ?” 

Busy were the thoughts, traveling without control on, 
and still on, into the future. The carillons from the little 
village broke the stillness — chimes, whose rich melodious 
peals startled the air with their mournful sweetness on this 
bright bridal day, so fraught with happiness for her. She, 
leaning on this strong arm, knelt in the presence of their 
aged pastor; while a silent blessing, breathed in the midst 
of prayer, fell from his lips. 

“ Marian, Marian ! on what are you musing so deep- 
ly ? I have spoken several times ; and really you did 
not know my arms were encircling you.” 

She drew the confused girl to a sofa ; and, placing her- 
self by her side, looked in amazement upon what seemed 
to her a perfect anomaly ; the little hands were thrown up 
entreatingly. 

“ O mamma ! do not ask me. I have been upon for- 
bidden ground, I fear; glancing into the far depths of un- 
certainty.” 

“ Marian, my daughter, I do not insist upon a confes- 
sion ; but you surely will not conceal any thing from one 
who loves you so devotedly.” 

“ And you will not laugh, mamma — will not think me 
silly?” 

" No, my child.” 

She threw her arms caressingly around her mother ; 


70 


MAIDEEy THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


and then, with all the ingenuousness of a guileless nature, 
related all that had transpired within the past few weeks — 
each little word uttered by Mr. Mahon manifesting an in- 
terest in herself — concealing naught, not even the wished- 
for correspondence. 

“ And, my darling, are you interested in Mr. Mahon 
— this stranger, who has been in our midst so short a 
time ?” 

“ O mamma ! I can scarcely analyze my own feelings ; 
but do not speak of him as a stranger. You know papa 
has long known him by reputation. Then, too, he is such 
an intimate friend of Mr. Gardiner, from whose lips his 
praises have so freely fallen that I feel I have known him 
for years.” 

“ Candidly speaking, Marian, I think he has but few 
equals; yet I regard you too tenderly, my child — entirely 
too much so, perhaps, as it causes me too jealously to guard 
my treasure. I do hope, in your correspondence, you 
will rely implicitly upon your mother’s judgment. Not 
that I prefer you should not write ; for I readily sanction 
that, knowing that, in his pure, didactic style, you will de- 
rive much pleasure ; and, if he is what I now think him, 
your happiness can be safely intrusted to his keeping.” 

“ Oh ! yes, mamma, you shall be cognizant of all that 
occurs. I could not be content were it otherwise ; for are 
you not every thing to me — guide, friend, and mother ?” 

Mrs. Lee was deeply agitated. 

“ O Marian, my darling, my darling ! I have so earnest- 
ly prayed that you might feel thus. Believe me that, in 
marrying your father, I appreciated the solemn responsibili- 
ty, and did not enter upon its cares lightly. My intense love 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 7 1 

for him could not blot out the knowledge that even one’s 
child might darken and blight the fairest home. In hours 
of reflection the thought would intrude that, perhaps on 
crossing this threshold, I was chanting my own solemn 
dirge; for had I not seen the loveliest of stepmothers 
pale and wither beneath unkindness — noted her earnest 
yearning for the love of the alienated ones — witnessed 
their terrible repulsions ? But when we met, Marian, a 
load seemed lifted. I saw one whose intrinsic worth I 
loved ; one endowed with the brightest gifts of beauty and 
intellect, but which some inward voice instinctively whis- 
pered, you alone appreciated, as blessings from your 
heavenly Father, knowing 6 every good gift and every per- 
fect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of 
lights. Marian, you were a frail, shrinking child then, and 
too young to be a professing Christian ; but your life had 
been canopied with purity; you were strongly imbued 
. with the religious truths taught by a pious mother ; and 
God knows, my darling, that in counseling and directing 
now, I have only your interest at heart ; and oh ! to- 
night, as I have again and again done before, I thank 
him for such a daughter. 

“ When you spoke of circumstances that occurred 
between yourself and Mr. Mahon, a saddened reminis- 
cence came vividly before me ; the more vividly, perhaps, 
from a letter recently received. How truly has it been 
said that, were the history of each life revealed, a 
novelette would appear, without appealing to the imagi- 
nation for nourishment. So it proved in the case of 
Lottie Morgan. We were classmates — oh ! in the retro- 
spective, how sweet appears that unadulterated friend- 


7 2 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


ship ; she was eccentric in many respects ; most of the 
scholars, as well as the professors, thought her dull in her 
studies, yet, notwithstanding that, every one respected 
Lottie Morgan ; her proud, imperial carriage and beauty, 
and fine conversational talent, spoke of a latent power 
which the future might disclose. Reading, with her, was 
a passion. Straying off into the ‘green-room,’ as we 
then called it, we, while the rest were engaged in their 
numerous sports, were most generally enjoying the rich 
thoughts with which both the prose and poetical works 
selected were teeming, culling and storing in memory’s 
repertoire choice eclogues. 

“ The first winter after our release from school-girl bond- 
age, we agreed to meet in New- Orleans, and there, many 
were the suitors pained by Lottie’s decided refusal. 
Among these was one undoubtedly preferred by her, and 
penetration was scarcely necessary to perceive his de- 
votion. They met, for the few weeks of his stay in 
New-Orleans, constantly; upon his departure, I dis- 
covered a correspondence decided on. She did not 
possess that fever-like nature which speaks always of 
coquetry ; consequently, I hoped continued communica- 
tion in this manner would finally, if it had not already 
done so, ripen these early impressions into love, for I 
knew him worthy. 

“ Years sped on. She, the cynosure of all eyes, had 
learned to relish keenly the witchery of flattery and 
admiration. Did she visit watering-places, her name 
adorned the newspapers by the graceful compliments due 
the belle of the season. But, strange as it may seem, 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


73 


letters passed frequently between these quondam friends ; 
yet he sought not her home. 

“ I wrote Lottie that my mother and myself would 
spend some weeks in New-York City. On our arrival, 
her cheerful voice was the first to bid us welcome. 
There they again met. He was all ardor ; she was cool, 
and apparently indifferent. Business of an imperative 
nature was urged on his part for past delinquencies. 
She mentioned his contemplated marriage, as information 
received from a mutual friend. It was earnestly denied 
by him, and at the same time he assured her that his 
heart had alone been true to one; entreating to be 
trusted — pleading with all the vehemence of an ardent 
attachment. But, filled with bitterness from past neglect, 
and whispers borne on a malignant zephyr of his love 
for another, his heart-utterances were unheeded. Alas ! 
could the veil have been uplifted, he would have seen 
only his image reflected. 

“ She returned to her home, dejected by the necessity of 
this cruel discardal, renouncing society almost entirely, 
losing herself, as it were, in the seclusion and fascination 
of a student’s life. 

“We had been separated one year, when I again sought 
my friend’s genial home. One morning, while conversing 
over the changes the past few months had produced in 
the habits of my friend — she recapitulating the many 
pleasures various musty tomes had brought, the intense 
relief they had given to her tortured mind — his name fell 
softly from her lips ; the wrong she had committed was 
discussed. 6 But you know, Maidee, he will come again, 
for we can not love truly but once,’ she said. 


74 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


“ A servant entered, placing in her hands a sealed pack- 
age, the contents of which were his wedding cards. 

“ A pale, sickly smile lighted her features. ‘ He is not 
worthy, Maidee,’ I heard echoed in husky tones through 
the apartment. 

“ * Oh ! what a tangled web we weave, 

When first we practice to deceive ! * 

“ I could offer her no comfort ; she would not permit it. 
His name was from that moment a forbidden one between 
us. The next day she spoke of her literary aspirations. 
‘ Maidee, you have so often chided me for burying my 
talent ; now we shall see, we shall see ! * 

“ It was spoken laughingly — but was it fancy ? That 
laugh evoked a sombre, ghostly form, startling me by its 
look of despair; it was the receding spectre of hap- 
piness. 

“ Marian, I need not tell you my predictions were ful- 
filled. Her works are already familiar to you. I thought 
she would never marry; but she did — a man who could 
not appreciate the noble being he had won ; self- 
opinionated, stern, dictatorial. How, with such a com- 
panion, could the child of genius be happy ? Her chil- 
dren were her only comfort. But, Marian, her own 
letter, while I read it to you, will reveal the closing drama 
of this episode : 

• 

(Ci Cherished Maidee: Now, in the gloaming of 
life — for it seems I have reached that twilight, verging 
still on greater darkness — my thoughts are busy with 
thee, my early confident. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


75 


“ 1 My darling friend, they tell me I must die. Can it be, 
Maidee ? Must I, indeed, leave this earthly tenement to 
grope my way into the great unknown ! Will the spirit 
float immediately upward to nestle into the bosom of 
God, or where, where shall it go ? 

“ c My home — the nucleus of all that is dear — will it be 
sacred from the intrusion of the stranger? or will an- 
other, ere the sod is green above my grave, fill the place 
vacated, nurture the flowers that I have planted as her 
own, and force the heartrending truth upon my mother- 
less ones that they are unloved ? 

“ A lovely trio are near ; their gay prattle seems a 
mockery, for they know not that I am dying. Claude, 
my beautiful child ! my ideal of perfect loveliness ! scin- 
tillations of genius sparkling from her dark eyes ; a heart 
teeming with love for her friends. But ah ! she will miss 
that reciprocity of feeling in life which is so essential to 
her happiness. O Maidee ! were she only with you, to 
bear with her capricious moods, to cheer and guide her 
pathway, the parting pang would not then be so great. 
Sydney, my noble boy ! possessed of an organization 
indicating great talent; each lineament presaging a 
brilliant future, and a genuine philanthropist ; but 
with a mother’s love withdrawn, left to battle alone in 
the cold, uncharitable world — who will guide him to the 
feet of his Maker ? 

“ ‘ The poor nursling — the wee one by my side ; God 
grant it may go with me! 

“ ‘ Maidee, you will visit my motherless ones sometimes ? 
Take them to your kind, loving heart, if he will permit 
it ; shield them from the chilling blast of life. I know ; 


?6 


M A IDEE, TEE ALCHEMIST. 


if in your power, this last request will not be neglected. 
I can not wait to receive your promise now, Maidee — 

:t ‘For, ere another day, 

The voice that now is speaking 
May be beyond the sun.’ ” 

The letter dropped from Mrs. Lee's hand; tears 
coursed down Marian’s cheeks. 

“ The little ones, mamma ; you will take them ?” 

“ I have written for them, Marian, but the father will 
never consent ; I know him well. Alas ! poor Lottie.” 

Marian said no more. Her mother, as she then ap- 
peared, buried in thought, was inclosed within bulwarks 
of grief too sacred for intrusion. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ It is said that love for the marvelous beauty of Cam- 
paspe inspired Apelles in his divine work of art, the 
1 Venus Anadyomene,’ which even in its decadence un- 
rivaled painters thought sacrilege to retouch, fearing, 
while brightening its original color, the ancient splendor 
and glorious beauty of the master-hand might be tar- 
nished. 

“ Like Apelles, in humble adoration before his great 
prototype, I could remain spell-bound beneath the 
witchery of external loveliness for a brief time ; but there 
must be Other perfections of heart and mind which, in 
wooing, could alone enchain, and such a one I have 
recently found; but, like those artists whose pencils re- 
fused to remodel, I would tremblingly reproduce it on 
canvas; for it would be alone by the chisel of a 
Praxiteles, or the matchless pencil of an Apelles, that 
this, my ideal of perfect womanhood, could be justly 
delineated. Therefore, mother, you must wait and see.” 

In his enthusiasm he arose, and, leaning against the 
marble mantel, toyed unconsciously with an exquisite 
statuette of Naomi and her daughter-in-law, resting there 
in their quiet beauty. The mother sighed heavily, and, 
looking up, he noticed tears resting upon her cheeks. 

“ What ! in tears, mother ?” 


78 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


“Yes, Paul; when our conversation commenced, it 
was only in a spirit of badinage. I alluded to your 
visits to Louis Gardiner as possessing other attractions, 
little dreaming another had already usurped the place in 
your affections which I alone have hitherto occupied.” 

“ Ah mother ! how can you speak so ? Do you not 
know 

“ ‘True love’s the gift which God has given 
To man alone beneath the heaven ?/ 

I had so hoped for your earnest wishes as to my suc- 
cess ! for as yet I know not how my suit will terminate. 
But I have been visiting her during the entire winter and 
spring, and, although no promise has been exacted, still 
my reliance in her magnanimity forces upon me the 
thought that, were the feeling not reciprocated, she would 
not continue a correspondence in which my feelings are 
so plainly portrayed. Mother, this statuette — the beau- 
tiful affections which it displays, the entreating counte- 
nance of Ruth, the trickling tear, breathing immaculate- 
ness ; the soul-speaking words, ‘ Where thou diest will I 
die, and there will I be buried : the Lord do so to me, 
and more also, if aught but death part thee and me/ will 
not this plead for your son ? Exerting its softening in- 
fluence, will it not cause you to embrace with a heart re- 
plete with love any one whom I may bring to our home ? 
Ah mother ! you can not refuse me.” 

He advanced, and, seating himself on a low ottoman 
by her side, placed the hand which had so often soothed 
and comforted him upon his head, as if he would force 
the blessing and welcome he so longed to hear from her 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


79 


loved voice. The hand was not withdrawn, but lingered 
caressingly amid the waves of glossy hair. 

“ True, Paul, Ruth ‘ clave unto her,’ but Orpah return- 
ed unto ‘ her people and her gods ;’ and, O my only one ! 
the last supporting pillar of our house, I could not re- 
nounce you willingly ; you, the child of many prayers and 
many tears, whom, were it not for, life would be unendur- 
able. No one can ever love you, my son, like your mo- 
ther. It is 

“ ‘ The only love which on this teeming earth 
Asks no return for passion’s wayward birth.’ 

You will not leave me, Paul ; you will not desert me in 
my declining years ?” 

“ Never, mother ! But did you know her, you would 
realize in a moment that such a thought would ever be 
foreign to Marian Lee’s nature. Could you see her in her 
father’s home, shedding gladness wherever she goes, you 
would no longer wonder at my devotion.” 

“ Go, then, my son, and, if she is what you represent, 
God bless you in your wooing !” 

Paul Mahon, springing up, threw his arms around his 
mother, kissing her repeatedly. 

“ Then you will spare me for a few days ? Mrs. Gar- 
diner intends giving a large entertainment, and I would . 
reach there, if possible, that night.” 

The consent obtained, he hastened, with a lightened 
heart, to the train, hoping to surprise agreeably by his 
presence at least one, on the eve of the reception. 

It was a balmy evening, and Poplar Grove, engirdled 
with beauty, impresses us, I fancy, while fascinated afresh 


80 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 

with its renewed charms, as did the Bruchion, the home 
of royalty and splendor, the wistful eye of the humble 
Alexandrene. 

Here, playing hide and seek, perhaps, beneath the 
gracefully-swaying foliage, gambols the little squirrels, ad- 
vancing out fearlessly amid their sports, for they have be- 
come long since emboldened by the non-appearance of 
the hunter ; while in other haunts we find the mocking- 
bird, chanting with myriads of foresters either an epic lay, 
which speaks of their wondrous achievements, or, in soft- 
ened tones, warbling some little madrigal which will entice 
from secret nooks, the loved mate. 

Flitting here and there is a young girl, now pausing be- 
fore beauteous espaliers, burdened beneath the weight of 
luscious fruit, over whose crimson hues even Pomona 
might condescend to smile triumphantly; then, like a 
startled fawn, glancing quickly around, as if she feared in- 
genious Vertumnus, lurking in the sylvan shades, endea- 
voring to seduce the Hamadryad from her duty. But, 
tossing such whims aside, we find her at length ; amid the 
flowers, where her elfin charms present a welcome anti- 
thesis with the pets of nature ; now singing some quaint 
air, now soliloquizing seemingly to the flowers most worthy 
to place in the bouquet for the queen of the evening. 

“ Ah ! I must have the most beautiful, and yet I can 
scarcely select. Little ones ! little ones ! why are you so 
lovely ? Why drive your humble votaress to despair ? 
Each peeping forth, to display its beauties first, and, as 
Miss Marian would say, you are 

“ * Types of the beauty, that when youth is gone, 
Breathes from the soul whose brightness mocks decline.* ” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


81 


This was uttered mechanically, and the hand was press- 
ed to the forehead as though the very effort to invoke 
the. muse was painful. 

“ Ah ! here is my little violet. Miss Marian says I 
must strive to deserve the violet’s emblem as mine, ‘ Mo- 
dest worth.* ** 

Again the hands were clasped around the forehead, 
and the countenance displayed such an intense yearning 
to comprehend. 

The looker-on is startled by the eye, in which mind 
seems but faintly represented ; and yet a keen observer 
would find a slight semblance to the Maggie Dickson 
of old. The bewildered child, once roughened and un- 
refined by the asperities amid which her young life had 
dawned, now polished and changed, because inwreath- 
ed within an atmosphere whose vignettes are chiseled 
from refinement and kindness. 

Happy Maggie ! Happy ? Yes ; for to her the past is 
a blank; the remembrance of those 

“ Whose untimely tomb 
No human hands with pious reverence reared, 

But the charm eddies of autumnal winds 
Built o’er their mouldering bones a pyramid 
Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness,” 

is as a forgotten dream ; she lives alone in the present — 
grateful to the kind hands who, with unflagging care, meet 
her daily wants, and expand by gentle means, a mind long 
neglected. 

The flowers culled, she gazed with fond pride upon 
their varied charms ; then weaving them into lovely clus- 
ters, such as her singular fancy dictated, turned joyfully 


82 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST; OR , 


to the house, wondering if Marian would think them as 
fair as the donor felt they were. 

A lovely vision met her in the long corridor, attired in 
white, with an exquisite coronal of pearls arranged tastily 
around a finely-moulded head, contrasting charmingly with 
the dark hair ; the spiritual eye, now grayish in appearance, 
now softening into a cerulean hue ; features not regular, yet 
stamped with both intellect and beauty. 

“ Why, Maggie !” she exclaimed, “ I have been search- 
ing everywhere for you, and, as usual, you have anticipat- 
ed my wishes. This grotesque grouping harmonizes with 
your own singular being.” 

“You think it very pretty, then ?” 

“ i Pretty ! ’ Pretty could not express my feelings, with 
regard to them.” 

“ Then you will not discard it for Mr. Espinosa's, should 
he bring you a fairer ?” 

“ Indeed I will not, dear child. Yours shall be the che- 
rished one for the night ; and my favorite heliotrope, you 
did not forget it, Maggie ? Many thanks for your thought- 
fulness ; they shall all come back with me. Ah ! how ten- 
derly I will guard these jewels, until the last shall wither, 
as mementoes of your affection. Shall it not be ?” 

“ Oh ! yes ; and upon your return I will rearrange them 
in the vases in your apartment.” 

A soft good-night uttered by Marian to the one whom 
her kind praises had made so happy, and she hastened to 
the carriage, where Mr. Espinosa and his sister were await- 
ing her. 

The impatient horses dashed eagerly forward ; the beau- 
ty of the evening, the exhilarating effect of the hesperian 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


83 


breezes, were soon manifest upon the spirits of the party. 
All was joy; the distance, though long, was unheeded; 
the silver stream, in its mazy course, illumined by floods 
of moonlight which had penetrated through the small cre- 
vices in the dense foliage, burst upon their view at various 
turns of the road in all of its unparalleled splendor. 

But suddenly, before they had deemed the journey half 
complete, the vehicle paused in front of the brilliantly il- 
luminated home of Mr. Gardiner. Lights within globes 
of every color, emitting their varied shades, decked the 
pyramidal-shaped trees; while flowers which could not 
slumber interspersed this picturesque scene. The ivy, 
though not alone in its verdant glow — while apparent- 
ly clinging to granulated walls — enhanced still more the 
witchery of the evening. 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Marian, “ have you ever beheld any 
thing more exquisitely lovely ? One could almost fancy 
the candelabra within the dwelling, in order to continue 
the magical effect, had severed temporarily their graceful 
pendants to cast their prismatic hues over this scene of 
enchantment — displaying to the bewildered eye beds of 
£ mosaic flowers/ ” 

A form appeared quickly at the door of the carriage to 
assist them, which seemed strangely familiar. 

“ Mr. Mahon, is it possible ? This is an unexpected 
pleasure,” said Mr. Espinosa. “ When did you arrive ?” 

“Only an hour ago. You are late in coming, this 
evening.” 

Marian’s heart beat wildly, and the eager grasp of his 
hand and its warm pressure assured her how welcome her 
presence was. 


8 4 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST; OR 


Mr. Espinosa conducted Marian to the house, while 
Paul Mahon, with a feeling of disappointment akin to 
pain, followed with Morelia Espinosa. This was a dilem- 
ma which he had not anticipated ; and precedent services 
might deprive him of much of Marian’s society. 

Most of the guests had already assembled, and gayety 
and mirth were visible. Terpsichorean chords fell cheer- 
fully upon their ears; occasionally, couples were to be 
seen, withdrawn far from the festal throng, when Eros 
called forth charming blushes and loving words; while 
behind a trellis- work, over which the jessamine hung “ like 
a green curtain embroidered with silver flowers,” the little 
peri nestled, inhaling “ that sweet perfumer of the night, 
which only throws out its full fragrance when its sister 
stars are keeping watch in the sky ; as if, when the song 
of the nightingale no longer cheered the- darkness, it sent 
forth its silent aroma upon the listening air.” 

They passed into a pentagonal boudoir, from which, 
when all wrappings were discarded, Marian and Morelia 
Espinosa issued, swayed by far different emotions ; the 
one, 

“ Eloquent in every look, 

Through her expressive eyes her soul distinctly spoke 

the other, with all of the fiery temperament of the Spa- 
niard inherent in her nature, with its usual concomitant, 
jealousy. 

Mr. Mahon watched eagerly for the coming of the for- 
mer; but other hearts were equally as expectant, and when 
he saw her completely monopolized, he turned with a feel- 
ing of chagrin to his nearest companion. It was Morelia 
Espinosa. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


85 


A crimson glow diffused her cheeks. Was it simply the 
pleasure evinced by one friend for another, or was it 
awakening love ? 

Earnestly did she attempt to dissipate the gloom which 
her penetrating vision had detected, but the origin of which 
she had failed to discover ; her vivacious mood was conta- 
gious, and soon led into forgetfulness by the witchery of 
her manner, he found himself at one moment amid gay 
themes, the next grave ; one instant busily criticising the 
beings before them, which, Prometheus and Epimetheus 
like, either personified intellectual vigor or disgusting weak- 
ness; the next, merry over some metempsychosial idea 
which the mediocre pamphlets of the day were parading 
before the public. 

But a ringing, musical laugh fell upon his ear, one 
which palled upon his feelings. How could she be so 
happy ? Man like, he was reproachful for the moment, 
even though he had been equally as reprehensible. Con- 
versation became distasteful to him ; fortunately, another 
now released him from his position by Morelia, and he 
sought Gertrude Gardiner, feeling confident that she 
would appreciate his situation ; that taciturnity on his 
part while by her side would be venial, or any attempt 
to converse would not be considered melodramatic. 

JS) 

There was something revivifying in her presence, and 
when they arose and passed into the supper-room he felt 
more buoyant. The table groaned beneath a weight of 
luxuries which would have competed well with the tables 
of Rome in her pristine splendor, when the livers and 
brains of peacocks, and tongues of nightingales, were pre- 
pared to satisfy the cravings of fastidious epicureans — days 


86 


M A IDEE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


in which “ even the august senate assembled to consult on 
the best mode of dressing a turbot.” 

Gertrude Gardiner, as if divining Paul Mahon’s intense 
wish to be with Marian, sought her out, and, framing some 
trivial excuse, soon withdrew Mr. Espinosa from the side 
of her two friends. 

Grateful for the offered opportunity of being alone, Mr. 
Mahon led Marian out amid parterres of flowers, where, 
secure from all interruptions, he could plead his cause. 
Utterly oblivious now were they of the gay crowd with- 
in; happy, truly happy in their reunion, even the quiet 
spots through which they promenaded, spoke of peace 
and contentment, and the moments sped rapidly by. 

“ We were speaking of the tulip during one of my 
visits,” he said, “ and finding this specimen a few days 
since amid my cherished souvenirs of the East, I thought 
of you and brought it, supposing it would not fail to in- 
terest.” 

Marian paused near one of the brilliant lights, examin- 
ing it closely. She started with surprise and pleasure at 
its marvelous preservation ; each delicate tint still giving 
a vivid impression of its original beauty. 

“ Believe me,” he continued, “ I had a double motive in 
invoking Chloris to my aid to-night, knowing full well 
that with one of her tenderly-guarded pets; I could the 
more readily express the feelings I long to utter. This 
flower, whose presentation in the East implies a declara- 
tion of love, must be with me, as with them, synonymous 
with happiness or misery. Miss Marian, will you not ac- 
cept it emblematically ?” 

He stopped, and, taking her hand, bent low for his 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


37 


answer. In vain were her efforts to speak. This abrupt 
avowal amid their calm conversation struck her with pro- 
found astonishment. Noting her confusion, he took the 
little bouquet, which Maggie had so carefully culled, and 
plucking the heliotrope from the group, pleaded earnestly 
that in its little emblem he might read his answer. 

The faltering consent which rendered one heart so joy- 
ful, drew upon another misery ; for in the midst of “ the 
leaf-clad casement of the queenly moss-rose, which, creep- 
ing in and out like threads of a fanciful tapestry, shows its 
crimson face amid the embowered green,” were a pair of 
large Spanish eyes watching and waiting. 


CHAPTER X. 


“The heliotrope ! where is the heliotrope? Miss Marian, 
you promised me you would bring them all back.” 

The words were repeated slowly, but in tones mani- 
festing keen disappointment. 

Seated near a window, the party addressed leaned 
against the casement, gazing out, seeming anxiously ex- 
pectant. The lips were slightly parted, and anon 

“ Smiled constantly, as if they had by fitness 

Won the secret of a happy dream she did not care to speak.” 

The delightful reverie broken, she turned to the 
speaker, regarding her with a dubious expression ; but the 
guilelessness of childhood, proved an amulet within which, 
dissimulation could not flourish. 

“Maggie,” she replied, “I confess I am culpable to 
some extent; but you will pardon me, I am confident, 
when you behold the rare flower for which it was ex- 
changed.” 

Rising, she took from the mantel a little ebony casket, 
filigreed with chased gold, and there, tenderly guarded 
amid her jewels, nestled the tulip, emblem to her of un- 
speakable happiness. Withdrawing it from its hiding- 
place, she continued, 

“Mr. Mahon brought this from the East, Maggie, 


M A IDEE) THE ALCHEMIST. 


89 


where, on account of its elegance of form and rare beauty, 
it is highly prized. Would you not prefer this to the he- 
liotrope, which we can so readily replace ?” 

“ Oh! yes, if Mr. Mahon gave it to you, I am satisfied. 
He is so kind, so gentle to me; but Mr. Espinosa — I 
do not like him.” 

“ Why not, Maggie ? It must be simply the prejudice 
of childhood; I am sure he is very gentlemanly and 
polite.” 

“ Indeed, I can not tell ; but nevertheless, I know you 
prefer Mr. Mahon.” 

Mrs. Lee, who had entered noiselessly and been an un- 
seen listener, laughed immoderately. 

“ That is right, Maggie ; probe the secret, if you pos- 
sibly can. Banish those lambent blushes, my darling. 
Remember, it is only your mother and our little Maggie 
who are here, both devoted and inordinately proud of 
you.” 

Bending over Marian, Mrs. Lee whispered, 

“ Did my daughter accept the tulip emblematically ?” 

“ Yes, mamma.” 

Pressing her lips upon Marian’s brow, she proceeded, 

“ I congratulate you, for your father as well as myself 
is delighted with your choice ; but this visit, was L not 
unexpected ?” 

“ Quite so. You spoke of papa; has he full cognizance 
of this matter ?” 

“Yes, Mr. Mahon spoke to your father some time 
since, telling him of his hopes and wishes for the future ; 
but he requested that no promise should be exacted from 
you, pleading your limited acquaintance as an excuse — • 


90 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

promising Mr. Mahon at the same time, after a more 
continued intercourse, your own volition and judgment 
should be your guide ; and bravely has he borne the test.” 

“ Why, mamma ! I thought that custom had grown ob- 
solete.” 

“ Perhaps it has with many, my child, and in this de- 
generate age, when so many trample upon the preroga- 
tives of a parent ; when even the sacredness of home is 
violated by scenes of contention and strife, we cannot 
wonder that it is so ; but it is an old patriarchal custom 
to which all should pertinaciously cling. I regret that 
the would-be utilitarians of the present day are endeavor- 
ing to arrogate to themselves the right of abolishing it. 
But see, there is Mr. Mahon ! If I mistake not, his looks 
are ominous. Surely there is a shade of gloom upon his 
countenance.” 

Marian bent eagerly forward, and, in response to their 
smiling good morning, the hat was raised gracefully, and 
a saddened smile alone was given. 

“ What can be the matter, mamma ? I hope Gertrude 
Gardiner is not ill.” 

“ 111, Marian ! Why should you be apprehensive ? Did 
she complain of feeling unwell last night ?” 

“ Yes, several times ; and, as you know, her extreme 
amiability and total forgetfulness of self, renders her 
usually oblivious to her own sufferings. Mr. Ronald, the 
young pastor from New-Orleans to whom she is engaged, 
entreated her frequently not to exert herself so much. 
You know, they are to be married very soon.” 

“ So Madam Rumor has long bade us believe ; but I 
did not know whether the report contained one vestige 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


9 1 

of truth. But hasten, Marian ; I am so anxious to hear 
from Mr. Gardiner’s family.” 

Paul Mahon met Marian as she descended the stairs. 

“ I am the bearer of mournful tidings this morning, 
Miss Marian ; it is sad that the spiculae of sorrow should 
lacerate hearts so recently made happy, inflicting at the 
same time incurable wounds. Your friend Gertrude Gar- 
diner is very low, and wishes you.” 

It was spoken, oh ! so tenderly ; for he knew but too 
well the links which one by one, were cemented in child- 
hood ; the intense love existing between these two friends 
crushing out, by its refulgence, many a tie which the bands 
of consanguinity should have rendered stronger. Alas ! 
how different must be the home of her friend, recently 
so joyous, now shrouded in an impenetrable mist. 

The Parcae were busy, the hum of the never-silent dis- 
taff rang in her ear ; and could it be that Lachesis had 
completed the little thread, and Atropos would soon sever 
it ? She shuddered. 

“ You are so pale and seem so cold, let me seek a slight 
wrapping for you, my darling.” 

“ I am not chilly, Mr. Mahon ; it is the heart that is 
aching. When I hear that a cherished one is sick, I feel 
like a poor shipwrecked mariner without one ray of hope ; 
for have I not stood before in the garden of Gethsemane, 
laved by the surging billows of bitter grief, praying, oh ! 
so earnestly, that the loved one might be spared ? Yet 
not one prayer has ever been answered. Is it because I 
am so corrupt, so unworthy of the notice which is be- 
stowed upon even a lily of the valley ?” 

“ God’s ways are indeed mysterious, Marian ; but you 


9 2 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST. 


know in his holy word we are taught that he chasteneth 
those whom he loveth. Often, very often, we see the 
good withdrawn, the noble of earth who are never weary 
in burnishing its impurities, rendering it dazzlingly bright 
for their Father’s kingdom, cut suddenly down in the 
midst of their labors. Silently they depart, but their me- 
mories still linger as bright landmarks to which all ear- 
nest spirits are ever turning as wistfully, perhaps, as did 
Elisha for the blessing which he hoped would descend 
with the falling mantle. It is not your evil which causes 
your prayers to remain unanswered, but the will of the 
Supreme Being to govern and rule in his own peculiar 
way and by his own peculiar methods. But let Spurgeon 
speak, in his own beautiful language, the thought that I 
would impress upon you now : ‘ If the grave were what 
it seems to be, the goal of all existence ; if the black nails 
of the coffin were not bright with stars ; if death were the 
end, and our lamps were quenched in darkness when it 
was said, “ Dust to dust and earth to earth,” yet ’twere 
worth while to be a child of God, only to live here.’ ” 


CHAPTER XI. 


“ Ah ! it is sad when one thus linked departs ; 

When death, that mighty sev’rer of true hearts, 

Sweeps through the halls so lately loud in mirth, 

And leaves pale sorrow weeping by the hearth.” 

In a darkened room lay Gertrude, her young spirit 
clinging tenaciously to earth, wrestling with the destroy- 
ing angel, craving alone the sweet boon of life, tossing 
from side to side, frantic from pain, both physical and 
mental. 

“ Prayer, prayer ! O Mr. Ronald ! pray for me,” was the 
ceaseless moan. He pray ? Impossible ! Tremulous 
from suffering, even tears were denied him. Again and 
again he essayed to speak, but the words died upon his 
lips. 

Marian and Mr. Mahon entered. Appealingly, he look- 
ed up to the latter. All knelt, and, in a voice whose sil- 
very tones fell as a gentle anodyne upon the sufferer, Paul 
Mahon pleaded with his Maker, pleaded earnestly for the 
departing one; but more especially that the hearts of the 
parents and friends, might receive a soothing balm which 
would assuage the bitterness of their grief. For the strong 
man who day by day would miss her sweet presence he 
prayed — prayed that now, that this human love had been 
denied him, he might be satisfied in a heavenly ; that the 
stricken man henceforth, while toiling in his Father’s vine- 


94 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OH, 


yard, might yet reap in his noble mission a foretaste of the 
bliss prepared above for the seneschals of the great Prince 
and Ruler. 

The keen pain of the tortured girl seemed mitigated, 
and with a strength and calmness almost supernatural she 
obeyed the summons. Her eyes lingered long and lov- 
ingly upon Marian, but rested last upon the silent suf- 
ferer by her side. 

“ You will not forget me ?” she faintly articulated. 

“ Never !” he murmured ; “ and O Gertrude ! if ultra- 
mundane influences are permissible, you will cheer my 
desolate existence sometimes ; for henceforth my pathway 
in life must be trodden alone, utterly alone.” 

A radiant smile was her only answer. 

“ O God !” was the voiceless, despairing wail of the 
chafed spirit, while bending over the lifeless body of her 
whom he had hoped would be his guiding star through 
life. “ Why is it that thou hast endowed frail nature with 
Titanic aspirations, which must only be quenched and 
paralyzed ; insatiable loves, which are lost amid ebullitions 
of grief?” 

All witnessed his agony, and trembled. They saw be- 
fore them a being who had received a poisoned shaft 
within his bosom, one who had in early childhood min- 
gled an orphan’s moan with an orphan’s intense longing 
for sympathy and love ; and now, as the glittering chalice 
of happiness seemed placed to his lips, it suddenly fell, 
overthrowing in its flow all blissful dreams, and ah ! the 
priceless gem which, in quaffing the pure atmosphere of a 
home — a home the future had pictured for him, and which 
he had hoped would be his — was shattered in this rapid 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


95 


descent, and broken into a thousand atoms. Within the 
past few months, 

“ He had ceased 

To live within himself ; she was his life, 

The ocean to the river of his thoughts, 

Which terminated all ; upon a tone, 

A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, 

And his cheek change tempestuously.’ * 

But now sunshine had darkened into a twilight of unut- 
terable gloom. 

All eyes were moistened — all, did I say ? Alas ! one 
remained unmoved. Noiselessly she had entered, and as 
noiselessly departed. Poor Morelia ! 

“ It is jealousy’s peculiar nature 
To swell small things to great ; nay, out of naught 
To conjure much, and then to lose its reason 
Amid the hideous phantoms it has found.” 

Pity, the unfortunate one, that some gentle mentor were 
not near to crush out by wholesome measures, this germ of 
evil — this occult guilt. 

Is there naught in the adumbration of the morrow’s 
duties — its sad ceremonials — to bid thee weep ? Behold 
your friends and her friends, the solemnized pall-bearers, 
with long streamers of tulle pendent from trembling arms, 
emblem, in its snowy whiteness, of her purity, tossed and 
toyed by the unfeeling winds ! 

Behold the young and old of your village, with their 
wreaths and bouquets of white buds, interspersed with eme- 
rald-tinted leaves, placing them in the new-made grave, 
garlanding this sacred crypt, endeavoring to make it 
typical of the happier rest above ! 


9 6 


MAID EE, TEE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 


Pause and consider. How knowest thou but soon Az- 
rael may spread his insatiable wings over thee, teaching 
thee in that lone home, where none can help thee, that the 
virulence of thy enemy is almost unpardonable ? Un- 
happy one ! list to the whisperings of conscience. 

The beauties of nature, its clare-obscure, will be obliterat- 
ed on the morrow by the entity of grief. Succumb, then, to 
the softening influences of the mournful picture, and read 
in it a lesson. Draw from the vision delineated pure 
draughts, by which thy spirit should be bedewed, and 
emulate, if thou canst, the example of one whom even now 
thy being loathes. But, ah shades of Gehenna ! as well 
might we ask thee to disgorge, volcano-like, thy lava of 
impurity. 

Passing swiftly out, Morelia but stops a moment to bid 
the coachman drive on. 

“ I will walk home later,” we hear gasped in almost 
incoherent language. Unquestioned, she enters a little 
path, not often trod except by the woodman or hunter. 
Rapidly she moves. At last, in the depths of the forest, 
a low growl arrests her attention. She pauses. 

“ Down, Pelham, down ! For shame, sir ! Of what are 
you thinking, to startle even for a moment one so fair ?” 

Morelia gazed upon the herbalist. A benign expression 
transferred itself over each feature. Engaged daily amid 
nature’s haunts, how could it be otherwise ? 

“ Ah !” she said mournfully, “ like ‘ Landseer’s old shep- 
herd,’ you too will have your ‘ chief mourner ’ when the 
grave — unwelcome receptacle to u» all — mantles you in 
night.” And the first tear which she had shed that day 
gushed forth. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


97 


The herbalist stood by in amazement What could 
there be in that old dog and himself to make her weep ? 
Perhaps it was his gray hairs. But no ; such reminders 
were daily with her. He would have spoken ; but she 
passed on, more quickly, if possible, than she had come, 
leaving him alone in the dense solitude. 

Arriving at length in front of a little cottage, profusely 
shaded with vines, Morelia leaned heavily against the 
gate, arched so daintily with its myriad of blossoms. Not 
a believer herself in necromancy, why had she fled so ra- 
pidly to this spot above all others ? — the home of the 
Pythoness of the village, whom the weak and feeble-minded 
of the neighborhood were ever consulting, but whose gifts 
as a prophetess she had so unrelentingly ridiculed. Alas ! 
why had she come ? Perhaps to still the great throbbings 
of a wounded, bleeding heart. Perhaps because she hop- 
ed that this being, with whom she had ever been an es- 
pecial pet, might extricate her from a miserable dilemma ; 
might prevent a marriage, which her frenzied fears prog- 
nosticated would soon be consummated. 

“ Morelia, Morelia !” exclaimed a sweet, persuasive 
voice by her side, “ what on earth is the matter ? Pale, 
haggard, wan, one might imagine you had been breath- 
ing an atmosphere whose humidity had completely pros- 
trated you, when, if I had an endiometer, I could con- 
vince you in less than a second how sadly mistaken you 
are !” 

“ Eloise, you have often told me, when a midnight 
darkness intruded upon my dreams, to come to you, and 
I should alone behold a glorious aurora ; when the heart 
was aching from despair, that the wound should be cica- 


9 8 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OH, 


trized ; that the child of one at whose hands you had ever 
received kindness, must be a stranger to sorrow. I laugh- 
ed at you then ; but, O Eloise, Eloise ! forgive me now, 
and cancel, if possible, my terrible sufferings. Oh ! I feel 
so isolated, so entirely void of affection. As to my brother, 
we have not one thought in common. My father, im- 
mersed in business, never realizes that poor Morelia pines 
and pants for sympathy. But with you, Eloise, with your 
warm Spanish blood, I thought I could find a depth of 
feeling which might affiliate with my maddened, passionate 
nature ; for is it not so— a Spaniard, above all others, can 
appreciate an ardent attachment ? Therefore I have come 
— come alone, at your own bidding ; and you will help 
me — I know it ; I feel it.” 

Morelia, inspired temporarily by the presence before 
her, with her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed for the mo- 
ment at even the thought of success, seemed unnaturally 
beautiful. 

The eyes of the pythoness flashed back lambent jets. 
“ Poor child !” she said hurriedly, “ who dares to cast aside 
such loveliness, such beauty ? — beauty of which even 
proud Spain might well be proud. Ah ! tell me. Who 
has dared to do it ?” 

“ Speak softly, Eloise ; and oh 1 do not judge him too 
harshly; for I love him — yes, love him; and he shall be 
mine. Who yet has seen an Espinosa thwarted ? And 
am I indeed so beautiful, Eloise ?” 

“ Beautiful ! Truly you are. But tell me, who is it that 
has come between you and the object of your love ?” 

“ Marian Lee.” 

“ Marian Lee ? Impossible ! But, nevertheless, cheer 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


99 


up. We will soon crush her happiness ; and when once 
entirely yours, this silly attachment of his will be forgot- 
ten.” 

“ My brother, Eloise — you will conceal all from him ; 
for he would reveal our plot, did he realize it for a mo- 
ment.” 

“ Say you so ? Would he indeed prove a traitor to his 
father’s house ?” 

“Yes; truly he would. Marian Lee is cherished by 
him far too tenderly for me to dream that it could be 
otherwise. I am confident, in fact, that he would not in- 
flict even one pang willingly upon a being who is the bane 
of my existence; and, forsooth, he is what men call 
noble.” 

“ Bah ! I have no confidence in such. It is said ‘ the 
God of Israel was impiously represented by the Gnostics 
as a being liable to passion and to error ; capricious in his 
favor ; implacable in his resentment ; meanly jealous of 
his superstitious worship, and confining his partial provi- 
dence to a single people and to this transitory life.’ In 
such a character, history tells us many could not discern 
any of the features of a wise and omnipotent Father of the 
universe. I confess at times I am like the Gnostic in be- 
lief.” 

“ Ah Eloise !” said Morelia in tremulous accents, “ you 
must not blaspheme.” 

“ Well, then, we will banish that subject; but you came 
to poor, forsaken Eloise in your difficulties. Yes, fair girl, 
and she will help you. Ah !” she said, raising her eyes 
devoutly upward, “ they may speak derisively of Pythian 
sayings in their days of prosperity, but in the wee hours 


100 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST 


of night, when an Egyptian cloud — impervious to the 
slightest ray of light — envelopes all things, our divine 
philosophy stands forth triumphant, like the patriarch’s 
ladder, illuminated with beings who alone, can give com- 
fort. It is the seer and seeress of the village to whom 
they then turn, and not their God. You shudder, child, 
and look pale; is this blasphemy? But come within, 
and perhaps with a more lengthy recital of your trials, we 
shall discover some marvelous panacea.” 

Awed into silence, Morelia obeyed, almost reluctantly; 
but she knew the being before her, in her present mood, 
would not brook disobedience ; and with their receding 
footsteps the door closed softly upon their necromantical 
rites. 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ I know, could your heart be daguerrotyped before me 
at present, I would there find reflected laminations of 
chaste gems, ornate with beautiful thoughts — thoughts 
deeply sympathetic with those of Ruskin when he says 
‘that the divine mind is as visible in its full energy of 
operation on every lowly bank and mouldering stone as 
in the lifting of the pillars of heaven and settling the 
foundation of the earth ; and that to the rightly perceiv- 
ing mind there is the same infinity, the same majesty, the 
same power, the same unity, and the same perfection mani- 
fested in the casting of the clay as in the scattering 
of the cloud, in the mouldering of the dust as in the 
kindling of the day-star/ Feeling thus, knowing and 
constantly appreciating the illimitableness of your Spiri- 
tual Father, I sincerely hope you will soon banish your 
recent grief — grief erosive in its nature, when the mind is 
not restrained, and bent humbly beneath his will.” 

“You would have me, I presume, Mr. Mahon, with 
waning hope, like David, don a new and gay attire.” 

“Yes, Marian. It is said, you know, by a scientific 
mind, ‘that the gigantic appearance of the Brocken is 
simply an optical effect produced by a strongly illuminated 
body placed amid light clouds, reflected from a consider- 
able distance, and magnified till it appears five or six 


102 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


hundred feet in height.’ So I have thought at times we 
magnify unnaturally our griefs, retiring into the strictest 
seclusion, refusing each fortuitous circumstance from which 
we might have drawn comfort, until the darkened page 
which our tenderly nursed feelings picture, becomes thick- 
ly annotated with rebellious thoughts ; when we should 
have received these afflictions unmurmuringly, thereby 
mellowing their sepia tints into iridescent hues. Remem- 
ber, these views are not empirical, as I fear my words 
have caused you to believe.” 

“ Were they so, perhaps your modesty would prevent 
you from confessing it.” 

She smiled mischievously. 

“What a consummate tease you are; but you will 
think seriously over our conversation, will you not?” 

“ Without jesting, I certainly shall. In fact, I will heed 
your admonitions, Mr. Mahon, and as far as I am capa- 
citated to do so, obey. All repinings shall be cast off.” 

Obey! Paul Mahon looked with fond pride into her 
countenance. 

“Those words fall sweetly from your lips; and how 
soon may I hope to assume a position which will permit 
me not to command obedience. Ah ! no, I would not wish 
that ; but to plead affectionately, when I would have my 
opinions adopted ?” 

Marian hesitated and answered timidly, 

“You can claim the privilege now, can you not, of ad- 
vancing your wishes and having them graciously re- 
ceived ?” 

“ Not without a closer and dearer tie. My darling, 
you will not trifle with me. Remember, man is peculiarly 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


103 


constituted ; impatient at a delay which debars even for 
a moment the daily society of the loved one, and, like the 
unfortunately ostracized pariah from a land that he wor- 
ships, he is ever turning thought and heart to the spot 
which shelters the being paramount in his affections.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s entrance relieved Marian from a 
dilemma ; a reply at that moment would necessarily have 
been waived. 

“What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?” 

Hitherto each curvature in her young life had ushered 
in warmth and devotion. Would the future, conflicting 
doubts whispered, be the same ? or would it end in sad- 
ness and neglect ? Alas ! why should such thoughts in- 
trude ? She had felt like bitterly upbraiding her mother 
in the past, for forebodings which the heart then silently 
condemned. Now, at the approximating hour, when each 
cavity of the heart must be exposed, each sacred echo 
with its ringing vibrations surrendered into the keeping of 
another, she shrank inwardly from the withdrawal from 
a protecting care which had been tried and not found 
wanting. 

Yet to what earnest spirit, as the hour of parting from 
those who have hallowed the morn of their life ap- 
proaches, does not all tender emotion seem temporarily 
palsied by the long separations which loom up threaten- 
ingly before them ? 

Is the young being, in severing the golden links of a 
happy childhood, entering a “ twilight gray” ? or the Hybla 
of love’s delineation, from which alone the honey of life, 
without any of its bitter, shall be sipped ? Alas ! but too 


104 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


frequently a “ twilight gray ” is the portion of delicately 
organized, confiding woman. The hideous mask of dis- 
simulation is withdrawn — a very Mezentius in cruelty 
cpmes forth ; not murdering his victim in a moment, but 
by slow torture ; pandering only to the taste of his amor- 
phous whims, and when surfeited with the wild debauch, 
returning to his home with feelings ossified, to quench the 
remaining life of the one whom he had solemnly vowed to 
cherish. 

Oh ! who can wonder, then, that the young girl, ere she 
closes the portal behind which only happiness has bloom- 
ed, should stop and consider, fearing lest the roseate gleams 
which fancy has drawn might be too highly wrought, and 
end in appalling shadows ? 

“Your mother has almost persuaded me, Marian, to 
pursue a course, for which she comes now, hoping to add 
your entreaties, as well as Mr. Mahon’s, to her own, in 
order that her planning may not be nugatory.” 

“ I fancy our opinions or entreaties are scarcely neces- 
sary, papa ; for, as usual, a face wreathed in smiles betrays 
the perfect harmony existing in your views with those ad- 
vanced by mamma. But what is the proposition ? Some- 
thing I already divine coexistent with a benefit to me.” 

“You have spoken correctly, Marian. Your mother 
never forgets you in her little cogitations.” 

“ Do not make the matter quite so personal, Leslie. 
Marian and yourself are representing me as far too un- 
selfish, and fearing that you will lose sight of one object 
in your affection for the wife, I must take the matter en- 
tirely out of your hands, and relate it myself.” 

All smiled, and permitted her to proceed. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 105 

“The death of a friend, Mr. Mahon, several months 
since, in Vicksburg, and her dying request to me, renders 
a vis to that place obligatory. Her last prayer was, that 
her children might be committed to my charge. This, 
from some incomprehensible reason, the father persistent- 
ly refuses to grant. I can not feel, however, that this de- 
nial on his part renders the responsibility imposed by the 
mother less great, and consequently can not be happy 
until I have seen the little ones, and persuaded the father 
to some course which will prove advantageous to them. 

“I at first contemplated making the trip alone; but, 
under the present circumstances, feel that I can not leave 
Marian ; therefore have persuaded her father to go with us, 
and, in order to augment the pleasure of the trip for her, 
go by way of Mobile and New-Orleans.” 

Marian clapped her hands gleefully. 

“ O mamma ! how charming that would be.” 

“ I think Miss Marian, by her very delight, has decided 
the important point — do you not think so, Mr. Lee ? — 
leaving me no opening to confute, even were I so dis- 
posed ?” 

“Undoubtedly she has. Woman-like, Mr. Mahon, they 
are ever prisoning me within delicate meshes, binding me 
so closely with their silken threads of persuasion that I 
rest there a listless, inanimate victim, swayed by each new 
caprice. To confess the truth, however, I am always a 
willing indulger to their whims ; for when can a genuine, 
earnest woman err ?” 

Marian shook her head archly. 

“And, were you constantly within warring elements, 
papa, woman would teach you not to divulge the se- 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST. 


106 

cret, with her never exhausting lash; for remember, 
‘The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great 
things.’ ” 

“ Yes,” laughed Mr. Lee, “ and ‘ Behold how great a 
matter a little fire kindleth ! ’ Our mood of banter has al- 
most caused us to neglect the original topic. What of 
our little journey ?” 

“ Ah !” said Mrs. Lee ; “ you have already, in a spirit 
of raillery, admitted our power. We accept it only as a 
serious assertion on your part, leaving you no clue by 
which to escape; therefore we go.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“ * Let there be light ! ’ said God ; ‘ and there was light.* 

‘Let there be blood ! * says man; ‘and there’s a sea.’ 

The fiat of this spoiled child of the night 
(For day ne’er saw his merits) could decree 
More evil in an hour than thirty bright 
Summers could renovate, though they should be 
Lovely as those which ripened Eden’s fruits ; 

For war cuts up not only branch but roots.” 

“ These lines seem well refuted by the smiling appear- 
ance of each little village which greets the eye in our 
rapid course, Marian.” 

“Yes, mamma; this instantaneous recuperation, as it 
were, in the very midst of such annihilation as the South 
has witnessed, seems almost incredible. I had expected 
to find monuments of past desolation on every hill-side, 
crowning each hearth with its gloom ; but instead, are 
unique cottages, blotting out by their beauty the remem- 
brance of the blackened, ruined homesteads, where, be- 
neath their ashes it may be, still glitters a remnant of the 
past waste and luxury of their sybaritical owners. 

“ Indeed, a more complete renovation could not have 
existed, had the solemn mandate fallen from aulic lips, 
that each sylvan spot must again bud and bloom.” 

“ Truly, Marian, the South is. impoverished ; but in the 
present scenes we behold cheerfulness, indomitable energy, 
and a disposition to struggle bravely against indigence ; 


io8 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 


and woman, by her matchless powers, must aid in the no- 
ble work yet to be achieved ; scorning as not an appro- 
priate associate the fatuitous, giddy child of fashion, whose 
only aspirations are those for silks and velvets — whose 
thoughts reach no further than the present, caring not if a 
thoughtless, foolish extravagance plunge the now tottering 
mansion into inevitable spoliation. 

“ Never thinking of the toil-worn, starving girl who, in 
the still hours of night, finds no freedom from the eternal 
stitching which hope faintly whispers may release from 
penury, and which, when complete, plodding on wearily 
with the garments, hoping to receive the amount due, but 
meeting, in reply to her anxious pleadings for the money, 
a blank look of astonishment at the impertinent request, 
teaching the despairing girl that the golden rule, ‘ Do 
unto others as you would be done by,’ has never been 
taught or understood in the home of that imbecile crea- 
ture; that she, even in her poverty and rags, can look 
down upon that piece of tinsel and gauze — for she has at 
least honesty. Woman! Alas! that such as I have pic- 
tured should bear the name, should desecrate the noble 
escutcheon which is hers by inheritance.” 

On and on, in its unmeasured course, sped the locomo- 
tive, carrying in its richly-freighted train intellects of every 
calibre ; pleasure-seekers, too, were there, and Mammon- 
worshipers, who had placed the filthy lucre as sole occu- 
pant in 

“ Ambition’s airy hall ; 

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.” 

Twilight had overcanopied nature with her sombre 
shades as they approached Mobile. A multiplicity of 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


109 

insects filled the woodlands, emitting at times lambent 
phosphorescent glows, which illuminated but a moment, 
rendering the scene wildly picturesque. 

Marian fancied she could distinguish in the innume- 
rable voices a sound like that of the cicada. There was a 
mesmeric influence in this wild chirping, a soothing balm 
in the dusky flakes of closing day which generated cor- 
ruscations from the past; little jeweled thoughts, destined 
for no ear but hers, were withdrawing from the sacred de- 
pository where love had placed them, recalling so forcibly 
the absent one. 

Forgotten now were doubts and fears. His last words, 
“ God knows, my darling, I will make you happy if pos- 
sible,” were pleading tenderly for him. She thought of 
Ruskin’s portraiture of what a genuine artist should be — 
‘ It is therefore that we pray him to utter nothing lightly, 
to do nothing regardlessly. He stands upon an eminence 
from which he looks back over the universe of God, and 
forward over the generations of men. Let every work of 
his hand be a history of the one and a lesson to the other. 
Let each exertion of a mighty mind be both hymn and 
prophecy — adoration to the Deity, revelation to mankind ” 
— and exclaimed silently, “ Oh ! how like in reality to Mr. 
Mahon.” 

“ Tracing love’s hieroglyphics again, Marian ?” 

The words were spoken softly in her ear ; but Marian 
recognized in the mischievous expression the tones, of 
her father. He had never before insinuated even, that 
love occupied a portion of her waking dreams, and her 
face burned and glowed from a feeling which she could 
scarcely define ; not because she would not have spoken 


t 


I IO 


J I AID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


openly upon the subject, had he so desired it; for in 
his nature there was far too much magnanimity, within 
his warm, throbbing heart far too much sympathy, for 
her to feel apprehension ; but the brightened flush was 
instantly noticed by one ever watchful, and, with a 
gentle shake of the head toward Mr. Lee, Mrs. Lee 
quieted him by laughing remarks on his own past, and 
in the grateful look given by Marian, read her thanks. 

They lingered but a short time in Mobile, exchanging 
greetings with friends, and then sped onward to the 
great Southern emporium, New-Orleans — a city opulent 
in entertainments of all descriptions ; in whose labyrinths 
of pleasure Marian plunged eagerly, beholding in each 
sinuation renewed charms, of which for the moment, she 
felt she could never weary. 

“ And this is the spot,” she exclaimed, “ that brilliant 
but unfortunate Aaron Burr, would have had as the 
great mart and centre, of the immense fabric which his 
busy brain longed to rear ! And who can wonder ? A 
spot inexhaustible in its resources, with so many facilities 
for both happiness and evil. But alas ! his vaulting am- 
bition, what did it accomplish ? His daring schemes 
have crumbled with the decay of the body, while the great 
metropolis still takes its giant strides toward wealth and 
splendor. What a luxury, papa, it would be to dwell here 
always, at least in the suburbs of the city, reveling amid 
the spontaneous productions of this fertile soil, cheered 
daily by the sweetly-scented orange-groves and the rich 
and rare beauties of God’s creation, as well as man’s 
humble efforts at beautifying ; with the atmosphere odor- 
ous with those flowers we so tenderly nurture, while here 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


Ill 


they are indigenous, requiring not even man’s careful cul- 
ture to enhance their natural charms.” 

“ I will give you but a few weeks, Marian, in which to 
weary of this bustle and confusion, and then I fancy you 
will sigh for the quietude of Poplar Grove.” 

“ O papa ! I would not willingly leave so sweet a home 
as ours ; but for the moment I am intoxicated with the 
delight of a city life.” 

Mr. Ronald, whose arrival in the city had only preced- 
ed that of our little party a few days, called immediately. 
Channelings of grief were traceable upon his counte- 
nance, and Marian realized, while in his society, how im- 
penetrable the umbrageous recesses underneath which he 
had been called to linger, would be to gleams of sunlight 
in the future. 

At his suggestion, bonnet and mantle were sought, for 
a visit to the home of the city’s dead — a cemetery with a 
“'brick wall of arched cavities.” 

“ The mode of sepulture here is strangely at variance 
with the abodes for the dead in other places, Miss Ma- 
rian.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Ronald, but strongly in unison with my own 
tastes. The prettily-graveled walks and neatly-kept plats, 
now flowery, now decked with evergreens, seem sooth- 
ingly to silence the saddened reminiscences which the 
surroundings would otherwise engender, and which strug- 
gle so bravely for the mastery.” 

Constantly little love-offerings were to be seen upon 
the tombs, reminding the beholder how tenderly the de- 
parted were still cherished by the living. 


1 12 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OH, 


“ What to us the grave ? 

It brings no real homily ; we sigh, 

Pause for a while, and murmur, ‘ All must die ! * 

Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more, 

Swell the loud tide and fret unto the shore ! ’ 

Those lines seem false to me now, Mr. Ronald.” 

“ Oh ! yes; they are untrue. Lurking in the chamber of 
each heart, within whose home death has entered, there 
are ever precious memories and wholesome lessons which 
the living would be loth to yield up. And such scenes 
as these should not be neglected; they are little me- 
mentoes to us of the fleeting breath, and it is God’s wish 
that it should be so. Wedded only to the pleasures of 
the world, eternity would be forgotten were it not for 
such terrible visitations. But especially here is the vanity 
of earth best pictured. In these low, marshy spots, where 
even a covering of earth is oftentimes denied the humble 
plebeian, the upheaval of the coffin, the blue vault of 
heaven its only mantle; the dust of rich and poor soon 
mingling indiscriminately, and the smallness of the dwell- 
ing which the wealthy even are permitted to claim, causes 
us to cry, like Philip of Macedon on beholding his image 
on the sand, ‘ Oh ! how little a parcel of earth will hold 
us when we are dead, who are ambitiously seeking after 
the whole world while we are living.’ My heart now 
is stereotyped with gloom ; but, ‘ Father, thy will be 
done !’ ” 

Silently they wended their way back to the great 
thoroughfares. Well she knew where his thoughts were 
resting, and it would be sacrilege to disturb them ; but 
nei own, where were they ? Busy, very busy with a 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 113 

past conversation on a similar theme with a noble men- 
tor by her side, delineating life’s duties to her then sor- 
rowing heart. 

Many nights, during her stay, found Marian at the 
opera, indulging her musical tastes, listening to the 
charming strains of a cantatrice, the city’s idol and pet, 
while daylight would find her with her friends, examin- 
ing exquisite works of art, or visiting the various mu- 
seums of interest. A connoisseur in all things which 
appertained to beauty, it was almost with feelings of 
regret that she turned to the great Father of Waters, 
which was to bear her onward, again to mingle amid new 
scenes and new pleasures. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“ A night on the water, with moonlight caressing and 
peeping slyly into each bower of green, with which nature’s 
lavish hand has decked the shore — what can be more 
lovely, Maidee ?” 

“It is, indeed, lovely, Leslie ; with the picturesque 
beauty of the little city already unfolding to our gaze, as 
we rapidly near the landing; its majestic hills and lowly 
valleys commingling in the wildest confusion, a domain, as 
it appears beneath the witchery of the present illumina- 
tion, of perfect peace and contentment ; and then I should 
fancy, antagonistic charms might be daily disinterred. 
But truly, when you spoke I had lost sight entirely of the 
surrounding beauties, and had commenced amusing my- 
self with a concatenation of events, as I fancied they were 
transpiring on deck. - If not out of harmony with your 
present feelings, Leslie, I will sketch the scene as it now 
appears to me.” 

“ Go on, Maidee. What could be more gratefully re- 
ceived at this moment than one of your life-pictures ?” 

“ Well, let the nearest group have precedency. In its 
midst, as centre of attraction, is a young and beautiful 
widow ; the garb of mourning almost discarded for a gayer 
tint, and in the depletion of which sable wardrobe, the 
bright, sparkling eye would indicate a pang had scarcely 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 115 

arisen. Suddenly the countenance assumes a sadness 
which is truly becoming. She is prating softly of 4 hea- 
venly recognitions/ breathing such wild laments over the 
departed, that involuntarily your own feelings blend with 
the mournful dirge. But see ! A gentleman approaches, 
one whom I would describe, on first acquaintance, as did 
Gibbon, Augustus — ‘ His virtues, and even his vices, are 
artificial.’ Yet, O Leslie ! behold our widow transform- 
ed as if by magic ! He takes her hand, and bids her go 
with him to obtain a nearer view of Vicksburg. The hap- 
py expression playing over her features, indicates to all 
the proximity of a fortunate suitor ; and our showers of 
sympathy are neutralized immediately. But, charity ! it 
is a Christian virtue; and this seeming solecism on the 
part of our fair friend we cancel, and, with the receding 
forms, silently murmur, 

“ ‘ Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart ; 

’Tis woman’s whole existence.’ 

“ Contiguous to the group which the widow has so un- 
ceremoniously left are two gentlemen, greatly excited on 
some point of casuistry, scarcely worthy of our considera- 
tion ; consequently, we leave them to adjust their difficul- 
ties between them, and dwell on new scenes. 

“ A party of epicureans next call upon us for a passing 
notice. Converting to swine, with them, would have been 
of minor consideration, had the great desideratum of life, 
a magnificent feast, been placed before them. The magic 
cup would have been quaffed eagerly, and Circe’s potent 
spell acknowledged without one sigh of regret. 

“ There are other circles of interest, Leslie ; but I must 
hasten on to the object of our love — Marian. For the 


IT 6 MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST / 0R> 

last hour she has been seated in yonder corner with one 
who seems to have forgotten — if he ever knew it — that 

“ * Minds, 

By nature great, are conscious of their greatness, 

And hold it mean to borrow aught from flattery.’ 

“ He has surfeited her with encomiums, and now turns 
to a nobler theme — a theme far beyond his comprehen- 
sion — that of love. Poor, satiated Marian! my heart 
yearns toward thee, my child; and I must relieve thee 
from the terrible dilemma. 

“Listen, Leslie, listen; he is quoting poetry. His eyes 
are raised heavenward. His hands are cast up theatri- 
cally; and oh ! the lover-like strain — 

“ ‘ May no dream of tenderness arise which earth may not fulfill, 
And no fountain open in thy heart which time hath power to chill.* 

Quite sophomoric, think you not ?” 

Mr. Lee was laughing immoderately. 

“ O Maidee, Maidee !” he exclaimed, “ what shall I do 
with you. Your love of the ridiculous will ruin you yet.” 

“ Not so, Leslie. Remember our conversation has 
been sotto voce , and intended alone for your ear ; and you, 

I know, will not betray me.” 

“ Not even to Marian ?” 

“ No, not by any means to Marian. It might prove em- 
barrassing to her in the future, were she aware of my ani- 
madversions upon one of her would-be lovers.” 

“ Well, Maidee, as you wish in the matter ; but here 
we are at Vicksburg, which relieves Marian, without your 
assistance, of her importunate suitor.” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


117 

<c Really, Marian, you must cast off your phantasmal 
character for a while ; silence is irksome this dismal morn* 
ing.” 

“ I have been conjuring up pretty nothings, mamma, 
with the descending rain-drops, the occasional flashes of 
sunlight, amid the clear crystals, answering as a delicate 
foil, which adds the greater brilliancy to the illusions. 
And the thought occurred to me, if this scene is so beau- 
tiful, what bliss it would be to fathom 

“ ‘ Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste 

to roll back its tumultuous billows, and survey, if but for 
a moment, the sublimity of its unexplored depths ! But, 
alas ! our maddening impulses must be staid ; and sub- 
marine beauties, which would thrill and exult the heart, 
rest forever undisturbed in their richly-decorated cradles. 
Here comes papa, however, with letters.” 

“ Yes, the very glimpse of which has already generated 
prelibations of happiness for you, Marian ; if not already, 
here is one that will do so.” And he laughingly tossed a 
letter from Mr. Mahon, into her hand. 

“ Perhaps you intended this as a guerdon for my good 
behavior, papa,” she slyly said as she retired to her room, 
buoyant and happy, anxious to receive tidings from the 
absent. 

“ Now, Maidee,” he said, turning to Mrs. Lee, as his 
daughter withdrew, “ I must make a disclosure to which 
I fear you will not listen kindly; but remember, my 
wife, 

“ * In such a time as this it is not meet 

That every nice offense should bear its comment.’ 


Il8 MAIDEE , ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 

Mr. Laselle, the husband of your lost friend, will be here 
as soon as the rain ceases, to invite us to his house.” 

“ Well, Leslie, what is there disagreeable in that ? Or 
perhaps your remarks as yet are not relevant, and you are 
still concealing something which will be exceedingly dis- 
tasteful to me.” 

“ Even so, Maidee ; it will not only be distasteful, but 
painful. Mr. Laselle expects to be married in a few 
days.” 

“ So soon ? O Leslie ! impossible.” 

Mrs. Lee was completely overwhelmed. The flowers 
had not even had time to bloom over the grave of Lottie 
Morgan, and yet her husband spoke of marriage. 

Was there no sacredness in a tie which bound so closely 
two human beings, that it could be thus desecrated ? Was 
life indeed a mockery, and love, of which man was for- 
ever prating, an idle dream alone to woman ? 

She arose and walked hurriedly up and down the room. 

“ Maidee,” Mr. Lee spoke sadly, “ you forget, while 
condemning all, that even you have always thought him 
incapable of appreciating his wife, and should you not 
conceal your feelings, it may prove detrimental to the in- 
terest of his children.” 

“ Yes, yes, Leslie; life is full of duplicity, and I must, 
as you say, crush out all bitter pangs; but think not, my 
husband, that in condemning the false and untrue, 
all are under the same ban; remember, my love has 
placed you upon a pedestal far too lofty for censure, and 
now, while you are waiting for Mr. Laselle, I will go to 
my own apartment and quiet, if possible, my rebellious 
thoughts.” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


11 9 

The meeting so much dreaded had taken place, and 
Mrs. Lee, the dignified, noble woman, had schooled her- 
self into calmness. Not one look which would denote 
the wild, tumultuous outbursts through which she had 
passed, was given. The man of the world and the feel- 
ing woman met apparently on an equal footing; but 
between the two an immense gulf was fixed, which, had 
it not been for the sweet prattlers of her cherished friend, 
might have widened into a chasm which would have 
known no reuniting. 

The carriage stopped in front of an elegant stone man- 
sion, beautified with Doric columns. Near one of the 
windows sat a young child — a lovely picture — a beautiful 
countenance with a superscription of grief. It seemed 
almost Cowper’s exquisite delineation of himself, when 
the piteous shafts of orphanage were first creeping into 
his young heart. 


“ My mother ! when I learned that thou wastliead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit over thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch, even then, life’s journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gav’st me, though unfelt, a kiss ; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss. 

Ah that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. 

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 

I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 

And, turning from my nursery- window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 

But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone. 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 


120 


MAID EE^ THE ALCHEMIST ; OR) 


Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 

Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 

What ardently I wished, I long believed, 

And disappointed still, was still deceived, 

By expectation every day beguiled, 

Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.” 

And there she sat, the little Claude, the mother’s pride, 
the impetuous child whom she had shrank from leaving, 
waiting and hoping that the separation would not be 
eternal ; all whispered in her little ear that at some future 
time she would be again united to the being she so idol- 
ized — and she believed it. 

On entering the large hall, a little boy immediately 
engrossed Mrs. Lee’s attention ; he was busily engaged 
looking into a stereoscope, which he had, in the absence 
of the servant, purloined from the parlor-table. 

“ And this,” said Mrs. Lee, “ must be Sidney ?” 

Tears were flowing freely from her eyes ; the mother’s 
image, how plainly reflected to the loving friend ! She 
clasped hirmto her heart, and Sidney resisted not. There 
was a warmth in the caress which the little one had not 
known since his mother died, and he clung to her pas- 
sionately. 

Marian passed silently up the stairway; there was a 
secret attraction above for her — a little sad face, which 
haunted her still. 

Ah ! ye, who have seen the coffin-lid shut forever from 
view, the mother who bore you, can ye wonder there was 
sympathy between these two who had sorrowed — the 
maiden and the little child ? 

Can ye wonder that the little face grew brighter when 
loving words were whispered and loving pressures given ? 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


12 1 


But O ye who have never known such misery ! pity 
the orphan, and, pausing in your course, sometimes speak 
gently and kindly ; thereby lightening its daily burden. 

Mrs. Lee, leaving her husband and Mr. Laselle below, 
with Sidney in her arms, sought Marian. The door was 
a little ajar, and Marian seated upon a divan, with 
Claude’s face pressed to her own, was speaking to the 
eager listener of the one who had assumed her mother’s 
position in her father’s home ; who had caused to banish 
the thickening shadows, which were falling around her 
and rendered life so sweet and beautiful. 

“ And perhaps, Claude,” she said happily, “ God will 
thus bless you, and halcyon days may yet be in store for 
the little orphan.” 

Mrs. Lee raised her eyes upward. 

“ O our Father !” she silently murmured, “ it is thus 
thou dost condescend sometimes to reward earnest, lov- 
ing woman, while others, far more worthy than I am, are 
neglected and alone. Thou hast deigned to bless me, 
and I thank thee. Oh ! teach me to be worthy of such 
kindness.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


“ The music, and the banquet, and the wine. 

The garlands, the rose-odors, and the flowers. 

The sparkling eyes and flashing ornaments, 

The white arms and the raven hair, the braids 
And bracelets — ” 

all were there, adding by their very presence, and their 
varied beauties, delight; breathing in each attitude and 
look, congratulations for Mr. and Mrs. Laselle. Congra- 
tulations received graciously, with numerous smiles and 
bows, by the former; but accepted simply as marks of 
respect, due her marvelous beauty by the bride. 

Cassandra, for the wondrous gift of reading the pages 
of futurity, pledged her love; but when endowed with 
the wonderful largess of unfolding to man his happiness 
or misery, she perfidiously refused to fulfill the contract, 
thereby creating the terrible ire of Apollo. 

Like Cassandra in one thing, Eva Sappington had 
crushed the nobler instincts of her nature to obtain a fatal 
gift — that of wealth/ But, in fulfilling the marriage vow, 
she had been even more reprehensible ; for love had been 
silently withheld and gentler emotions, in her opinion, 
were to be henceforth marbleized. With the gem, so long 
coveted, in her possession, she felt, she knew that she 
could be happy, with the constant adulation of the gay 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST 


12 3 


world she so loved. Their silent homage would be a 
sweet incense which would forever hush all other long- 
ings. 

And the dear ones at home, they too must share in her 
boundless wealth — partly for them, the sacrifice had been 
made — and she read in the idolatry of her husband, that 
this wish of her heart would be easily granted ; and her 
family would occupy henceforth the position to which 
they were entitled. 

Mr. Lasalle’s delight seemed limitless ; it was so sweet 
to listen to the compliments bestowed upon the object of 
his choice, the proud, noble beauty he had won. He 
watched each step, as she passed through the dance, and 
thought he had never before beheld any thing more 
lovely. 

What to him were the murmurs, borne maliciously from 
an envious world, of Eva Sappington’s inability to love ; 
and sometimes, too, he heard it silently whispered that a 
pure, noble woman would not listen to the outpourings of 
a heart so recently draped in mourning. 

Pshaw ! what nonsense ! He, for one, would not let his 
“ frail thoughts dally with a false surmise for he — did 
he not love that golden-haired girl, whose lips might dim 
the very brightness of the coral — whose carnation-tinged 
cheeks had caused many a smile to vanish from the reign- 
ing belle ? Love her ! Alas ! the only love he had ever 
known, her loveliness had aroused into existence. 

It was true, there was a latent pang, when he dwelt for 
a moment upon the mother of his children and his false- 
ness to her. Her genius had dazzled him by its splendor 
and the world’s eulogy upon the quiet, now voiceless one, 


124 MAIDEE , T&E ALCHEMIST / OR, 

had rendered him proud and vain that Lottie Morgan 
bore his name. But within the grim chapel of his heart, a 
feeling had been long harbored, he dared not, even him- 
self, analyze : it was the dread of an ignoble soul, of 
that very genius which the world worshiped, of that 
purity of soul which longed so earnestly, before her death, 
to bring him within its regenerating influences. But on 
meeting with Eva Sappington, he had resolved that all 
ghostly memories should be dissolved, that the world 
should read only inscribed upon his heart, in connection 
with Lottie Morgan, 

“ Thus peaceful rests, without a stone, a name 
That once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.’* 

Mrs. Lee sat in a remote corner of the room, in earnest 
conversation with one of the savants of the little city; 
not so remote, however, as to prevent a knowledge of the 
admiration which Marian’s inimitable charms were elicit- 
ing. And then, too, Claude and Sidney were near, re- 
minding her constantly, in their excited tones, of what was 
transpiring, even though she should have otherwise for- 
gotten it. 

“ Surely, Mrs. Lee, yourself and companion must be en- 
gaged in some teleological discussion, so engrossing seems 
your theme ; but what do you say to leaving that pretty 
daughter of yours in our midst ? Truly I am afraid you 
will scarce have a choice in the matter, so determined are 
our young men to present their fascinations in the most 
favorable light.” 

“ Believe me, my opacity is not as great as you may im- 
agine with regard to the temptations which may be cast 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


I2 5 


around Marian ; but should the charms of Vicksburg de- 
tain her here, rest assured Mr. Lee and myself must be 
claimed also as citizens.” 

“ Ah ! is it so ? Then we shall have a double motive 
for presenting the numerous charms of our city ; but now 
as to the bride — what do you think of her ?” 

“ She is surpassingly fair ; but, I fear, not adapted to 
the responsibility she has assumed of training motherless 
children.” 

“ Ah ! well may you say so — 

“ * So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 

We start, for soul is wanting there.’ ” 

Mrs. Lee shuddered. It was strange another should 
repeat the very thoughts, with which her mind was so 
deeply imbued. 

Must one possessing a teemless, aimless life — a false 
fashionist — be the instiller of the principles which must 
guide the destinies of two young lives ? Impossible, 
Lottie Morgan’s children must not be neglected : echoes 
from the early loved were pleading for them, even from 
the tomb ; and she must use every energy of her being, 
during her remaining stay, in the accomplishment of her 
mission. 

O man ! thoughtless, careless, unfeeling being, why is 
it that, in the days of thy widowerhood, the past can be 
so easily canceled ? — the memory of the one whose life 
was a life of sacrifices to enhance thy comforts, so readily 
obliterated ! And thou, in thy weakness and in thy folly, 
can laugh and prate of another tie which will soon cica- 
trize the new-made wound ? How is it that thou canst 
force upon bleeding, sensitive hearts, mere butterflies, who 


126 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 


bask and flourish alone in the sunshine of prosperity, 
scarcely capacitated to guide their own fallen natures, 
much less, the noble existences with which God has in- 
trusted thee ? 

Purblind one ! not pausing to consider the step thou 
art taking — there will be moments in thy future, which will 
be bedewed with regrets — hours when thou wilt silently 
mourn for the clear, practical mind which cheered thy 
early wedded life; an earnest wish, it may be, for the 
sweet sympathy of the true woman, thy first choice, the 
very remembrance of which, will cause thy present joys to 
empale and vanish. 

The morning after the party, all nature seemed flooded 
in golden beauty, so bright, so gloriously shone the 
sun. 

Many of the wearied belles of the night before, still 
lounged indolently in their boudoirs, dreaming, it may be, 
of the tender thoughts spoken by loving eyes the evening 
previous; while the gentle sighs of others less fortunate, 
were floating noiselessly upon the sweetly-laden air. 

Mrs. Lee and Marian having packed each trunk secure- 
ly, preparatory to their departure, entered a carriage that 
Mr. Lee had in waiting, to pay a parting visit to Lottie 
Morgan’s humble home. 

Mrs. Laselle turned from the window with a sigh of re- 
lief, as the vehicle moved rapidly away. 

“ Gone, for a while at least !” she exclaimed, “ and I 
can have a little quiet, without being continually torment- 
ed about those children. Dear me! I wish they were 
both in her safe-keeping. What can Mr. Laselle mean by 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


127 


wishing them to remain ? Children always were a nui- 
sance, and go they shall.” 

After which peremptory declaration, she sank weariedly 
into a fauteuil , assuming at the same time a flaccidity of 
manner not often hers. Nebules of anger were in the as- 
cendency on the lily-white face, that appeared so beauti- 
ful to the outward world. 

“ Why is it,” we hear hissing through the pearly teeth, 
“ that Mrs. Lee’s penetrating eye should disturb me ? Why 
is it her looks sink so deeply, reminding me — contrary to 
my own wishes — that my present life is a hideous mask ; 
resuscitating anxious forebodings, which I had thought 
henceforth, it would be a light thing to embay ?” 

Mr. Laselle’s quick step upon the stairway caused her 
to brush rapidly aside the tears of vexation which were 
falling, and with a cheerful smile, rising to meet him, she 
playfully said, 

“ One proof of your love I must have this morning, 
dear husband — only one.” 

“ Only one, my darling ? Then speak, for it is already 
granted.” 

iC So easily ? How kind you are !” 

And the little hands passed caressingly over his brow. 

“ Mrs. Lee has just left me.” 

His face darkened. 

“ Is it of my children you would speak, Eva ?” 

“ Yes; she wishes them for a short time, and I promis- 
ed to plead with you on the subject.” 

“ It can not be. My children shall not be separated 
from me.” 

The hands were thrown up deprecatingly. 


128 MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 

“ But, my husband, you forget your promise, and my 
poor self. Children are a great care; you would save 
me all trouble, if possible, would you not ? You know I 
am so young.” 

“ Eva, why was this matter not thought seriously upon, 
before our marriage ?” 

“ My boundless love for you, my dear husband, caused 
me to lose sight of every thing else.” 

And the arms encircled him lovingly, and the pouting 
lips were raised for a kiss. The infatuated man in soften- 
ed tones whispered, “ You have conquered;” and pressed 
her to him warmly, as the only object then worthy of his 
love. Thus quietly a wish was granted, which had so 
sternly been denied the dying. 

Utterly unconscious of the conversation, her anxiously- 
expressed thoughts to Mrs. Laselle had produced, Mrs. 
Lee was deeply engrossed near the grave of her friend, 
planting flowers — friendship’s tribute — upon the mound. 

“ Mr. Laselle has erected a handsome monument, Mai- 
dee.” 

“ Yes, Leslie ; but affection did not prompt it. It was 
reared to satisfy the cravings of a censorious world.” 

“ Are you not unjust, my love ?” 

“ No, no, I can not be. Every act of his life reveals 
the sad thought to me, of a noble wife unappreciated. 
And this monument, how forcibly it recalls a lonely pro- 
montory — gilded at eve by matchless Sicilian sunsets ; a 
lofty statue, standing proudly defiant, glistening with the 
golden beams — a lesson to man in its drapery of beauty of 
the evil of hasty passions ; and Hannibal, it seems to me, 
must have stood there in days gone by, gazing upon that 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


129 


testimonial of his crime, envying Pelorus his calm sleep — 
surveying like some lone sentinel the tomb which his tu- 
multuous grief had caused him to place there; feeling, 
alas ! how sadly, his inability to blot out the memory of 
his rash deed. Like Hannibal, our munificence can orna- 
ment the abodes of the dead with costly tombs, but alas ! 
the passionate words still linger ; the unkind acts to the 
lost still haunt us, and we stand tremblingly by their 
graves, harrowed in thought — wishing in our sorrow the 
dead could be restored, and we, the living, might be able 
to eradicate from their minds, the fearful scenes that have 
fled. So, I fancy, Mr. Laselle may stand here, ere many 
months, with a heart teeming with bitter regrets — and Lot- 
tie Morgan will then be avenged.” 

“ Why, mamma! Mr. Laselle seems very happy.” 

“ That may be, Marian ; but when the stern realities of 
life approach, Eva Sappington will be found wanting ; and 
then he will turn in thought to this spot, which conceals 
virtues which he could not but respect, even though her 
superiority to himself prevented that reciprocity of feeling, 
which often produces warm attachments.” 

“ Maidee, your work of love is now complete ; there- 
fore we must hasten on, as our time is precious to-day ; 
but there is still one sacred act unfulfilled.” 

“ And what is that, my husband ?” 

“ The graves of the Confederate dead — we must seek 
them, my wife.” 

Silently and solemnly they passed to where the soldiers 
rested. Over an immense space in the cemetery — a con- 
secrated spot — were thickly strewn hundreds and hun- 


130 MAID EE ) THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 

dreds of noble Southern hearts. Bravely they had fought, 
side by side in life, and in death they were not divided. 

A young girl bent near one of the slabs; her hands 
were clasped firmly as if in supplication. Tears fell thick- 
ly, but the peculiar expression of the countenance denot- 
ed more that a descending benediction was being implor- 
ed, than that wails of grief were gushing forth from a 
surcharged heart. 

Mr. Lee knelt by her side. 

“ Permit us,” he said, “ to mingle our tears with yours. 
This is not your grave alone, but one dear also to your 
countrymen. Remember. 

“ ‘ There is a tear for all who die, 

A mourner o’er the humblest grave; 

But nations swell the funeral cry, 

And Triumph weeps above the brave.’ ” 

a O sir!” she said falteringly, “I believe you; for 
months I have longed for this hour — to press my cheeks 
against the sod which covered my brother’s remains — 
and oh ! believe me, he was one of nature’s noblemen. 
To clear with my own hands the rubbish, I fancied that I 
might, alone, deck his grave and place a sister’s humble 
offering upon the lowly mound. It seemed the absorbing 
thought of my life. Alas ! I had dreamed that the spot 
we so loved, in our simple home, would rest here neglect- 
ed ; but ah ! how different it seems ; kindly tended by fair 
hands — wreaths withered it is true, yet showing to a sis- 
ter’s heart that woman has been here ; and oh ! can you 
blame me? — I had ceased weeping for the dead, and at 
your approach my feeble petitions were ascending in behalf 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


131 

of the noble women of the South, imploring God to bless 
them — and He will bless them.” 

Hushed and silent were the listeners — for her lips seem- 
ed still whispering the prayer — but all nature burst into 
song, and in chanting their sublime anthem, the chief re- 
frain seemed to be “ God bless them! God bless them!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


Fairmount Water-Works, presenting a sheen of bewil- 
dering beauty in its winter robes, looking amid its silvery 
habiliments like some rare haunt in whose formation na- 
ture, and art had both vied in production, so as to perfect 
its gorgeous splendor — notwithstanding the bitter cold of 
the morning — failed not to attract its quota of admirers. 

But it is ever thus with Philadelphia’s boast and pride ; 
a cornucopia in beauty, flooded with allurements which 
daily enchain esthetical tastes ; and, too, so rich in utility 
that even the practical mind, while examining and re- 
examining, can find some food for thoughtful digestion. 

Near this scene of loveliness, upon a glade of winter’s 
moulding, frolicked some laughter-loving urchins — now 
skating, now pausing to evade the snow-balls which 
were being tossed quickly from a temporary estrade y 
reared by older companions, to impress upon the 
younger group “the proximity of dignity,” as they 
mirthfully termed it. 

An old man, with locks so white that from them even 
the descending snow-flakes could scarcely be distinguished 
as they rested upon his aged head, crouched near by — 
cowering as if loth to meet the gaze of his fellow-man, 
yet eager to drink in this draught of happiness which was 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


133 


portrayed so vividly before him ; watching with avidity 
the saltations of the boisterous party, and laughing heart- 
ily as some fantastic figure reminded him of whilom days 
when his own heart, exuberant with joy, mingled in similar 
scenes. 

Day was waning, and the lookers-on, as well as actors, 
were one by one leaving the exciting sports, ere he, who 
had been so unmindful of the passing hours, arose, more 
proudly erect than the morning had found him, with some 
tokens of the delight he had received, still visible. 

That day of cloudless splendor — what had it been to 
him ? It was the incantation of a golden echo — an echo 
from his childhood’s home, which had long lain dormant, 
and whose resuscitation had rendered a total oblivion to 
his daily burden. With a smile playing upon his features, 
he moved rapidly along with the throng, cheered by the 
gentle musings of a happier heart. 

Who knows but at that moment he felt the warm, linger- 
ing kiss, impressed upon willing lips by a mother’s fond- 
ness, as he sprang eagerly forward to join the waiting 
group of his boyhood days ? Who knows but the same 
ambitious vibrations were reawakening into life, as had 
stirred the youthful blood when his own brilliant horo- 
scope had been revealed to him by partial lips, and the 
same panting desires were springing up to carry out the 
predictions of the sage astrologer, who had foretold a 
career marked with nobleness and truth. 

Pausing, at length, in front of a handsome dwelling, 
upon one of the most fashionable streets in the city, the 
massive door opened to his light touch, and he entered a 
large hall, decorated with choice engravings, and from 


134 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OB, 


thence passed into an elegantly furnished apartment, 
where an apparently cheerful, happy trio were busily 
engaged in their evening amusements. 

A beautiful, golden-haired child gamboled with a pet 
kitten upon the bright-hued rug, while two ladies, both 
young, sat near a table, discussing the merits of a hand- 
somely bound volume which had just been purchased. 
The one, a genuine brunette — with a crimson japonica 
nestling lovingly amid her dark braids, and a unique set 
of coral as her sole ornaments, contrasting charmingly 
with her finely-tinted complexion — frowned perceptibly 
upon the opening of the door, feeling, without permit- 
ting herself even to gaze upon the intruder, the approach 
of a living incubus, which blighted her daily happiness. 

“Your study has been ready, Mr. Swaby, for some 
time,” she said indifferently. 

“ Is there a light there, Ida ?” 

• “Yes.” 

He turned reluctantly to the door. 

“ Brother !” exclaimed a mellow, rich voice, springing to 
his side, “ spend a few hours with us, will you not ? Per- 
haps it will enhance the pleasure of your evening, and I 
am sure it will add much to ours.” 

The speaker was clad in deep mourning, and the ‘sad- 
dened countenance betokened recent grief. She was tall, 
graceful in appearance, and, while examining her closely, 
we find our eye turning as if for the revelation of some 
hidden secret to the innocent, unconscious being who is 
with her kitten, luxuriating in the warmth of the evening 
fire. 

He had brought some sunshine home in his heart for 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


*35 


the first time in many months, and the words fell as gently 
and soothingly upon his hungry, arid affections, as lights 
the descending dew on the parched, dying plant of south- 
ern summers. The same old pleasant smile which had van- 
ished for a moment at his wife’s reception, returned, and 
he looked pleadingly toward the seeming icicle, which ob- 
stinately refused to thaw. 

“ Ida wishes to read to-night, and I fear my presence 
would be objectionable.” 

The wife’s lips moved not, and, with a disappointment 
he could not conceal, the isolated man withdrew to his 
solitude. 

“ O Ida, Ida ! what have you done ?” And the tall 
form bent tremblingly forward, as if swayed by uncontrol- 
lable emotions. 

“ Sister, I am wearied to death with these abnormal 
whims which you would fain make me believe are busi- 
ness habits.” 

“But O Ida! his face seemed so much brighter than 
it has of late, and you should not have frowned so coldly 
upon him.” 

“ Marie, the approximation of one I so utterly abhor, 
arouses all the antagonism within my bosom. My entire 
being is metamorphosed, and I think, were I luxuriating 
amid supernal beauties, his presence would transform the 
vision, and I should sink to the very lowest depths of de- 
gradation. It is said, you know, ‘ that the Taliput palm- 
tree of the East, blooms not until the last year of its exis- 
tence ; the flower which is then produced is inclosed in a 
sheath, and when this explodes or expands, it is done with 
a loud noise, after which it becomes so offensive that it is 


136 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / OJK, 


frequently cut down to get rid of it;’ and may it not be so 
with my liege lord ? If your watchful eye has discovered 
any evidence of budding affection, or even of brightness 
upon his countenance, may I not flatter myself that I 
have room for freer breathing in the future ; for perhaps, 
like the Taliput palm-tree, the flower of love, even though 
it should be disagreeable, will expand and bloom around 
our hearthstone during the last year of his existence, and, 
too, perhaps trumpet-tongued heralds will be employed to 
announce the bliss in store for your fortunate sister.” 

“ O my God ! what is it I hear ? A sister whom I had 
deemed a very vestal of loveliness, thus speaking of one 
whom she has vowed before a sacred tribunal, to respect.” 

Appalled and heart-sick, Marie Toleman sank by the 
side of her child, as if, in that innocent presence, she 
could find a cloak which would forever conceal her 
sister’s baseness. 

“ Marie, forgive me if I inflict pain ; for ah ! doubt not 
you are the sole tie which binds me to principle and 
honor, and your society for the past few days has been 
the only cup of joy which my lips have been permitted to 
quaff since my marriage. Yielding to his saturnine na- 
ture, has become irksome to me. What! dwell forever 
in the purlieus of his pleasure or displeasure ? No ! I can 
boast of some acumen, and thank God I intend to use it.” 

“ Reflect, Ida !” And the mild eyes sought those of her 
sister with affection still beaming from them. “ One of 
your impetuous, wayward temperament has been sorely 
tried, I admit ; but tell me truly, is it not your old love 
for Lucien, which has thus banished your husband’s 
image ? Are you not culpable, my sister, instead of 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


137 


the one you so deeply condemn ? Have you tried by 
gentle means, to win and woo his heart back to his own 
fireside ?” 

Tears sprang quickly to the eyes of Ida, and Marie 
Toleman welcomed it as an omen of good. 

“ Marie,” the tones were milder, “ when I married Mr. 
Swaby, it was undoubtedly, as you afterward learned, to 
save my father in his old age, as I then thought, from in- 
digence. It was a terrible sacrifice ; for I loved Lucien 
Whitsell, alas ! God alone knows how dearly. My father’s 
fears were groundless ; the crisis passed and his fortune 
was saved through the kindness and instrumentality of 
friends. The daughter’s oblation, what did it accomplish ? 
Naught. But, silencing all inward pangs, I determined 
courageously to face the ordeal, which my own folly and 
a father’s sufferings mutually had brought upon me. I 
did not love Mr. Swaby, it was true ; but with all of a 
mother’s early lessons fresh upon my mind, I knew wo- 
man’s duty, and neglected it not. Vainly Lucien Whit- 
sell sought my side. I spumed him as I would the vilest 
reptile in my pathway. He upbraided me even in the 
society of others, when he found he could not meet me 
alone, with my perfidy ; but I bore it all calmly, not al- 
lowing one word of explanation to escape my lips. O 
Marie ! you know not how earnestly I longed in that bit- 
ter hour for your presence ; but you were absent in Eu- 
rope, and your letters were all so deeply perfumed with 
happiness, that I felt it would be selfish to obtrude my 
grief upon you and yours.” 

Marie Toleman was sobbing audibly ; the recital was 


138 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 

even more painful than she had anticipated, though she 
had suspected much. 

“ Hush, hush, my sister ! do not weep thus, for I am 
hardened to any thing now, and far from worthy of your 
pure sympathy. But to continue : I humored his chame- 
leon moods. At times he was all gentleness to his wife ; 
at others, petulant, irascible, and overbearing ; but I wres- 
tled with an inward tempter, and meekly bore his harsh- 
ness. Day after day I remained in this house with no 
companion ; occasionally my father would steal a few mo- 
ments from his business to devote to me, and when with 
him — whom it would have been martyrdom to have seen 
reduced to poverty — mine, scarcely seemed a sacrifice ; for 
the control of his fortune, and his repeated allusions to 
the strong arm — meaning Mr. Swaby — which he had now 
to lean upon, rendered him so inexpressibly happy that I 
partook of the contagion, and wildly dreamed that the 
immolation had not been too great. Company, after a 
while, became distasteful to me, and I refused to see any 
one, pleading indisposition as an excuse ; and truly it was 
sickness in the most agonizing form. Repeatedly the 
door-bell would ring, and my heart would bound with 
the wild, tumultuous pleadings for my only love — for it 
was Lucien Whitsell. He knew and felt that he had been 
wronged, and intensely desired to unravel the mystery ; 
but the same answer was ever given. O Marie ! I have 
domiciled within my bosom, thoughts as motley in their 
conception, as the human characters stored for the night 
in some caravansary in the East. But all my cheerful- 
ness when with him, all of my attempts to gain his con- 
fidence, (for I cared not for his love,) all of my efforts to- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


139 


ward conversation were met with trenchant, sententious 
replies. At last poor lacerated nature sank under the 
blow inflicted, and, pierced by the withering feeling of 
neglect and mortified pride, I lingered for weeks upon a 
bed of pain, craving death. During the time, he seldom 
visited my apartment, but left me entirely to the care of 
hirelings. Ah ! what woman, with the noble feelings 
which God has implanted within her, can brook such 
falseness in the common amenities of life, much less 
when bestowed upon kindred ? Think you not we should 
loathe those of our race whose philanthropical emotions 
are so meagre, that even sickness and death are deemed 
an infringement upon their daily pleasures ? You speak 
not, Marie; but your silence gives assent. You, who 
never slight the feeble of earth, must condemn an act 
which even the Romans, in their days of barbarism, re- 
garded as criminal. A few of my old friends, whom my 
great unhappiness had caused to discard entirely, hearing 
of my critical condition accidentally, came and besought 
me to allow them the privilege of nursing one whom they 
esteemed so highly. I was too grateful to deny their re- 
quest, and the recipient of so much unexpected kindness 
soon commenced convalescing. 

“ One day a charming bouquet was placed upon my pil- 
low, and the delightful fragrance caused me languidly to 
ask to whom I was indebted for so beautiful a gift ? 
Judge of my surprise when Lucien Whitsell was named 
as the donor. ‘And, Ida/ whispered one of my early 
schoolmates, ‘ you should have witnessed his grief during 
the time we all trembled for your life. I do not think a 
single day has passed in which he has not been the first 


140 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


inquirer as to your condition/ Marie ! Marie ! God grant 
you may never realize what I then felt ; the intense loath- 
ing which inundated my heart for the being I called hus- 
band ; the tenderness which was coursing stealthily 
through my veins for one who, though so cruelly treated, 
still clung to his early passion with a tenacity which seem- 
ed almost unnatural. Can you wonder then, my sister,” 
her words were scarce intelligible, “ that in one respect 
Lucien Whitsell triumphed ?” Marie Toleman turned 
deadly pale. “ I agreed to see him, and all the past was 
unfolded.” 

“ O Ida ! tell me not that he has persuaded you to 
leave your husband.” 

“Not clandestinely, my sister; for Lucien Whitsell is 
noble and honorable ; but ” 

“ But what, Ida ? Speak out. I am prepared for any 
thing.” 

“He wishes me to obtain a divorce. I do not think 
he would have even suggested that, had my husband been 
kind to me ; but O Marie 1 he says, which is true, ‘ that 
my vow was first given to him, and I had no right to 
disannul it.’ 

“You had no right, it is true, Ida; but remember 
there is a greater vow binding you now, which a higher 
Master bids you not sever ; and have you never thought, 
in your intercourse with your husband, that his insane 
conduct, proceeds from some latent circumstances which 
perhaps — perhaps you may yet find extenuating ones ?” 

“ Even so, Marie. But hist !” And she cast furtive 
glances around the room. All was peaceful, and her eye 
returned again to the fireside where the child and the kit- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 141 

ten, wearied with their play, slumbered side by side. 
“ What you have said may be true ; for do you know at 
times I fancied, while struggling so hard for his confi- 
dence, that I was simply coquetting amid the cinders of a 
blackened, blasted, ruined life — a life in which happiness 
has been crushed by some foul crime which he fears to 
divulge ?” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“ Duroc !” replied Napoleon, with a voice choked with 
grief, “ there is another life. There you will await me, and 
we shall meet again.” The book dropped from Marian’s 
nervous grasp, and, clasping her hands together, she 
looked up appealingly to a sweet, pensive face which, in 
its oval frame, seemed to smile a silent assent as the 
mournful eyes were raised so pleadingly and .anxiously to 
hers. 

“ O mother, mother !” we hear in broken, heart-rend- 
ing accents, “ tell me, tell me, if this be true ? Are the 
words of the great conqueror of earth truly the sealed 
fiat of time and eternity ? or are they a mockery, and am 
I your only child ? Am I to be eternally separated from 
the being to whom I owe every feeble, noble impulse of 
my nature ? Within a year, how I have shuddered at the 
thought that perhaps an obelisk of beauty might be placed, 
with its heavy weight, above me ! or that even — shrink 
not from me, dear mother — my cold form might be placed 
beside your own in the marble mausoleum, where even 
the little sunbeam dare not penetrate ; but oh ! within the 
few months that have fled over my heart, has been woven 
a shroud of such delicate shreds, that it is withering and 
blasting my life. The early lessons of piety impressed by 
your patient efforts are almost submerged by the bitter- 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST 1 43 

ness of my grief ; but to-night, my own unworthiness for- 
gotten, I feel like casting myself within the witchery of 
the holy shrine which my love has erected for thee, saint- 
ed mother, the idol of my heart, which time even can not 
demolish, and then within that pure temple praying ear- 
nestly for death. Let them place a mocking epigram 
upon my tomb, if they wish ; an epigram which tells of 
sanguine hopes dissipated by the baseness of man, of a 
trust in his noble purity shaken by months of dreary ne- 
glect ; if I can but once feel the cooling spray of your 
sympathy, the libels of earth will be as naught. Have 
your lips forgotten, dear mother, the sweet lullaby which 
once soothed me into slumber ? Are your heavenly joys 
so great as to wreck the memory of your child ? The 
loving light of your eyes — eyes in which only scintilla- 
tions of the soul’s deep movings were perceptible — is 
quenched ; but O mother ! is it forever ?” 

The face, with its piteous expression of woe, bore sor- 
row’s monogram, and in gazing we are startled by the 
look of patient grief, the deep furrows of care which a few 
months have wrought. The candle flickered and waned 
as the restless breeze, unnoticed, passed quietly in through 
the blinds, encircling the lurid flame, and hastening the 
extinction of its feeble light. 

A mocking-bird resting on a bough near Marian’s win- 
dow chanted carols, now low and plaintive, again wild 
and brilliant ; but for once its music passed unheeded. 

The little flowers beneath the casement were sending 
up their fragrance as if in their very redolence the stricken 
one might be wooed into forgetfulness. 

The cold moon, shining down from its sublime heights, 


J 44 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


casting silver shadows o’er the burdened earth, weaves a 
halo of light around the grief-tossed girl, as if in these 
mimicries of beauty, saddened reminiscences would be dis- 
solved. 

The warm, listless, apathetic atmosphere of a Southern 
morning in summer had spread its baleful influences o’er 
the inmates of Poplar Grove, militating strongly against 
the naturally energetic temperaments with which t’hey 
were blessed, rendering them almost indifferent to the lux- 
urious breakfast to which their continued absence would 
necessarily prove detrimental. 

Claude and Sidney only had risen with the soaring of 
the lark, mingling their own sweet voices with the weird 
music of a thousand songsters of the forest, and chasing 
the varied-hued butterflies, checking them in their eager 
efforts to sip the first sweets of the dew-capped flowers, 
or springing forward beneath the dark arches, lured by the 
sight of a stray sunbeam which had paused for a moment 
to light the dusky recesses ; for why should it not gild and 
beautify nature’s mouldings ? 

Ah ! these little hearts were merry and happy ; for daily 
within an atmosphere of love they too could chant their 
matin praises, and laugh gleefully when the answering 
echoes gave back their own glad notes. 

Wearied and exhausted with the delay, frowning lest 
the dainties which she had so carefully prepared might 
not prove such to the epicurean lovers, who, notwithstand- 
ing her repeated appeals with the little silver bell, answer- 
ed not, the supreme controller in the culinary department 
summoned Claude and Sidney from their sports, and bade 
them inform Mrs. Lee that breakfast had long been wait- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


*45 


ing. She knew the love of the mistress of the mansion 
for these noisy, laughter-loving, frolicsome children, and 
felt that their presence would not be obnoxious, though 
they should disturb her morning’s repose. Mrs. Lee, sur- 
prised at the lateness of the hour, rose quickly and has- 
tened to the breakfast-room, where Claude and Sidney, 
seizing Mr. Lee immediately upon his entrance, were soon 
busily engaged in relating the marvelous scenes which 
had greeted their never- wearying eyes, during their morn- 
ing rambles. 

Mrs. Lee noted Marian’s non-appearance with pain. 

“ Maggie,” she said, “ have you seen Marian this morn- 
ing ?” 

“ No, Mrs. Lee. I do not think she has as yet left 
her room.” 

“ Well, go to her door quietly, and if she is still sleep- 
ing, do not disturb her. She has not seemed well of 
late, and I would have her rest as sweetly as possible.” 

Mr. Lee stopped the children amid their rambling talk, 
and inquired excitedly, 

“What do you mean, Maidee? Do you think Ma- 
rian is sick ?” 

“ Not sick enough to cause any uneasiness, perhaps, 
Leslie ; but we will speak more freely in the library after 
breakfast.” And, noticing Mr. Lee’s manifest alarm, she 
added carelessly, “ This climate is so enervating during 
the summer months, my husband, that I do not know that 
any cause for apprehension is necessary.” 

But with the fears so suddenly awakened not even the 
gay prattle of the children could divert him, and, partaking 
of the remaining meal in silence, he waited with impa- 


146 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OH, 

tience for Mrs. Lee, whom he felt had never before taken 
so long to attend to her domestic duties. Maggie, it was 
true, had said, upon her return, that she was still sleeping ; 
yet how knew he, but at that very moment she required 
the care and aid of some skillful physician ? 

“ My darling,” he spoke tenderly, for with him the deep 
affection cherished for Maidee Chaworth, even from her 
very infancy, as he might say, was still true and fond, 
“ did I not know the love you bear my child, I should 
almost accuse you of giving a thousand unnecessary or- 
ders.” He had drawn her closely to him, and she raised 
her expressive eye to his. “ The welfare of that child 
could not be more dear to you, Leslie, than it is to me ; 
for did it not seem bordering on sacrilege to speak so, I 
should tell you that my love and sympathy for Marian are 
almost as great as that which her own mother could have 
felt.” 

“ Believe me, Maidee, I do not doubt you. In your 
past intercourse with each other, I know an own mother’s 
care could not have been more unwavering ; and truly, my 
wife, if the idolatry of a father and child can ever repay 
you — ” Mrs. Lee threw her hand playfully upon his lips, 
and stopped the closing remark. 

“ Hush ! my husband,” she said softly, as the library- 
door closed behind them. “We must not speak thus, 
but remember hereafter that she is mine as well as yours.” 

An hour after, Mrs. Lee emerged from the library, 
and, pausing to bid Maggie superintend the preparation 
of such delicacies as she thought Marian would relish, 
she passed quickly up the stairway and knocked gently 
at her door. No returning answer came, and on opening 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


147 


it, she was shocked to find the bed untouched, not even 
a wrinkle upon its snowy covering. Upon a lounge near 
the window, where the soft winds were still wooing her 
to slumber by their mesmeric kisses, lay Marian. A 
loose wrapper, such as deck la belle Creoles in midsum- 
mer, had been thrown carelessly on the night previous ; 
and the same languid, dreary air which had haunted her 
waking features were resting there, amid the calm repose 
which tired nature had so fortunately forced upon the 
young girl. Mrs. Lee bent tenderly over her, and looked 
long and wistfully upon the sweet face. 

“ ‘The beautiful are never desolate, 

But some one always loves them — God or man. 

If man abandons, God himself takes them.* 

How strangely the very tendrils of my heart seem linked 
with those of this child ; and if she should waste away, 
what could fill the vacuum made in Leslie's heart and 
mine ? But no ; it can not, shall not be ! Grief does 
not kill, except, weak natures. Hers is by far too strong. 
She will not succumb to the weakness and folly of man." 
And speaking thus, Mrs. Lee, bending forward, imprinted 
a warm, loving kiss. 

Marian sprang quickly up. “ O mamma ! is that your 
caress ?” 

“ Yes, my child; I felt jealous of the lulling breeze 
which alone seemed privileged, this morning, to greet you 
with a kiss." 

“ * Striking the electric chain wherewith we’re darkly bound.’ 

Mamma, you have dispelled such a sweet vision. Must 


148 MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 

I tell you all ?” And the head sank weariedly upon the 
supporting arm. 

“ Yes, all, Marian. Had you been more confiding in 
the past, your sufferings might not have been so great. I 
do not mean to reproach you, and yet perhaps I should ; 
for my love has not merited such treatment.” 

44 I know it, I know it, mamma; but, oh! pity me. I 
could not help it.” And rills of warm tears — tears which 
were soothing — gushed forth and fell quietly, bearing in 
their flow a deep, deep burden. “ Oh !” she continued, “ it 
was a vision of 4 gladsome beauty.’ ” And a smile, even 
at the bare recollection, hovered for a few moments amid 
the tears. 44 Last night, mamma, I felt so desolate ; I 
seemed wandering amid some 4 leafless desert,’ which was 
waste and barren of even the green spots of earth, which 
oft greet the exhausted traveler in similar scenes. I felt 
that I must die ; that death alone could bring the relief 
which I so earnestly sought. Then, beneath my dear mo- 
ther’s portrait, I poured forth the grief that was oppress- 
ing me. Often, often I longed to throw myself upon 
your kindness, and receive the comfort which I knew you 
would not fail to give ; but the thought of my desertion 
was too humiliating. I could not speak it ; but, as you 
insinuated just now, my reticence gave not quietude.” 

44 And did you think, Marian, that your gloom and its 
cause could escape me ?” ( 

44 1 hoped it would ; but I knew not. I resolved that 
Paul Mahon’s name, and the cruel estrangement, should 
never be breathed by me to earthly ears. And I thought, 
last night, if it were possible that spirits from another 
world could commune with the living, my own mother’s 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


149 


would answer to my agonizing wail ; and it did, mamma, 
but not in the way that I had anticipated. The early 
beams of the morning sun were penetrating within the 
blinds before my weary eyelids closed; and then she 
sought my pillow. Her own lips pressed mine as in life ; 
her soft hand smoothed back the tresses which in my 
grief had escaped confinement ; the same arms were en- 
circling me that awakened joyousness in childhood ; and 
beneath her thrilling touch I was again happy. O mam- 
ma, mamma ! can the motherless ever forget ?” 

“ Never, never, Marian ! Alas ! it would be a sacrilege 
to do so. What ! tear the image of the one from your 
heart, who has given you birth ? Stain that holy shrine with 
a single blot of forgetfulness ? Marian, it is impossible ! 
The child that could do it, would be a mocking fiend. Oh ! I 
have thought if there was one thing that could inspire my 
pen, it would be the memory of my mother’s love ; it 
would be alone that intense yearning to place before the 
world, the worth of the blessing that I, in her death, had 
lost. It is not that you love me the less, my child, for I 
can appreciate the holiness, the sanctity of your affection ; 
but for your mother, there is a sacred pedestal erect- 
ed, to which, even amid the golden hours of your 
happiness, you must ever turn. Child, our heavenly Fa- 
ther sanctions this intense devotion to your parents ; for 
has he not said, 1 Honor thy father and thy mother, that 
thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy 
God giveth thee ’ ? — blending with his solemn mandate a 
terrible curse upon the wayward child, who could, even in 
a moment of anger, prove recreant to one of his great 
commands. 


150 MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 

“ Turn to the vilest malefactor, who is about to crimson 
with his blood the scaffold reared for his execution, and ask 
him what is it, that, second to the thought of being usher- 
ed into the presence of his Maker, so causes his cheek to 
blanch ; and he will tell you, if his feelings are not too vi- 
tiated to confess, that it is the memory of a sweet, pale 
face whose voice had ever quenched the gushing tear in 
childhood ; whose heart, even in days of terrible wicked- 
ness, had echoed only deep tones of sympathy for the 
tempest-tossed wreck of manhood. Or, bending with the 
silver-haired, faltering pilgrim above the grave which he 
finds opening to receive him, ask him what is it that brings 
up the smile to his wasted features ; and he will tell you 
that a pure, holy voice, whose whisperings he had ever 
heeded in the hour of temptation, still speaks in silent 
tones ; that her finger still guides him onward and up- 
ward. But, Marian, we have wandered far from our ori- 
ginal theme — your closely-guarded sorrow — and this 
morning I would have you remember 

“ ‘ ’Tis murmur, discontent, distrust 

That makes you wretched. God is just.* 

It is but natural that a finely ‘ wrought spirit ’ should be 
vulnerable to the keen shafts from the quiver of a cold 
and heartless world ; but within a home of love such as 
ours, Marian, where even the slightest sorrow need not be 
brooded over in secret, we should not shrink from that 
close communion which oft brings to the wearied one, 
peace. Believe me, if I have waited for your own lips to 
disclose Paul Mahon’s duplicity — as I knew you thought 
— it was only in the hope that some tidings might be 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


* 5 * 

procured, which would exonerate him from the terrible 
suspicions created in your mind — but not in mine, 
Marian.” 

“ You do not, then, believe him false, mamma ?” There 
was much of the sparkling animation of olden times about 
Marian as she uttered her last sentence. 

“ I certainly do not, nor shall I, until I hear it from 
his own lips. Paul Mahon, in my opinion, is a noble, 
sincere Christian — one who would sacrifice his own happi- 
ness, rather than trifle with that of a woman, and such a 
one as Marian Lee.” 

The old, glad smile again arose. 

“ Your eulogies on both, are kind, dear mamma.” 

“ Not kinder than you both deserve, my daughter. Did 
I not know him so well, perhaps I might doubt ; but I can 
not but feel that there is some foul plot in existence, of 
which we are wholly ignorant — which can only be 
explained in the future ; it may be dreary months of pain 
to both, before the mystery can be solved ; yet I would 
advise you, Marian, never, under any circumstances, to 
malign, even in thought, a genuine, noble type of man, 
unless you have irrefragable proof of guilt. Remember, 
however, my views are not infallible.” 

“You speak of a plot — why should suspicions arise in 
that form ?” 

“ You are fascinating, as well as Paul Mahon ; may 
there not be another so strongly instigated by the power- 
ful incentive of love, as to prevent your marriage, if possi- 
ble ?” Mrs. Lee paused for an answer. 

Marian mused long and deeply; it was strange that 


* 5 2 


M A IDEE) THE ALCHEMIST 


that thought had never occurred before, and it brought 
with it a healing balm. 

“ Mamma,” she said thoughtfully, “ you are right. I will 
wait patiently, and see.” 

“ Paul Mahon is not one, I think, who would mahy 
where he did not love devotedly ; for do you remember 
Louis Gardiner spoke of him, upon your first acquain- 
tance, as strangely indifferent to ladies’ society ; but should 
he prove unworthy, yours is not the nature to grapple with 
gloomy memories. Earnest workers we must be. In 
your closing hour, dear Marian, as a just reproach, I would 
not have it written in letters of burnished gold, on the 
purplish-tinged sky, as it slowly recedes from your dying 
gaze — “ Ye knew your duty, and ye did it not.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


“ Blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for 
when he is tried he shall receive the crown of life, which the 
Lord hath promised to them that love him. 

“ Let no man say when he is tempted, ‘ I am tempted of 
God for God can not be tempted with evil, neither tempt- 
eth he any man. But every man is tempted when he is drawn 
away of his own lust, and enticed.” 

Maggie paused; a bird of great beauty had lighted gent- 
ly upon a feeble limb of the great oak, and its first note drew 
back to her mind her favorite theme — nature, and its 
enlivening little workers. She clapped her hands in wild 
glee, as in its busy warbling the limb swayed to and fro, as 
if about to yield up the light burden, and gratify the 
whim fluttering upon her lip. 

“ O papa, papa ! ” she exclaimed, “ could I only secure 
it ! See how beautiful it is ! so gayly decked — each color 
of the rainbow is in its bright plumage ! Oh ! how sweet 
it would be for Miss Marian’s aviary. I wish it were safe- 
ly domiciled there; and she must have it.” 

Speaking thus, she arose slowly, forgetting in her de- 
light the Bible which fell to her feet. But the gorgeous 
forester, ever on the alert, flew rapidly away ; and she 
wildly excited at the thought of thus losing the prize, could 
only watch its glittering beauty as it soared higher and 


*54 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


higher, safely and rapidly retreating from one who could 
frame so cruel a wish. 

The father seemed not to hear the remark thus ad- 
dressed ; but seizing the book, he turned with apparent in- 
terest to the words which Maggie Dickson had just read. 
Alas ! how vividly it recalled to his mind days of yore — 
hours in the past in which a meek, pleading wife endea- 
vored to woo him back to paths of happiness — madden- 
ing retorts, in which he had cast mockingly before her his 
atheistical views; hurling from his then proud, blasphe- 
mous lips the falsehood, that the God of heaven, if 
such a one existed, led him on in his wicked, reckless 
course, bidding her, in his anger, digest his foul, malig- 
nant utterances. But ever gentle, even winning, seeking 
only to persuade and convince, she had, by a repetition 
of these very verses, endeavored to prove his error, words 
which sank only upon a heedless ear then, but strangely 
speaking to him now, through the thoughtless, careless 
voice of a daughter, toward whom he had long been sin- 
gularly indifferent. 

Utterly alone, with no one to supply his daily wants, as 
the toil-worn wife and daughter of the past had done, 
he had been suddenly checked in his mad career. Ceas- 
ing his wandering life, this man, who had not yet reached 
the number of allotted years, but whose hair was whitened 
by the scenes of dissipation and wretchedness through which 
he had passed, had returned once more to his former 
haunts, and, bending over God’s holy word, he read and 
pondered silently. The same oak, which had spread its 
graceful foliage above his head, now shielded and protect- 
ed him from the burning rays of the southern sun. Mag- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


155 

gie had wandered quietly away, leaving him alone with 
thoughts — yes with long-buried thoughts, and a trembling 
future. 

She stopped at the open door of the hovel — his home 
— and entered, where an unusual mirth was soon visible 
within her weird nature, at the undignified stampede of the 
arachnida into whose gossamer receptacles she had plung - 
ed. A relentless demolishes the nests of these busy labor- 
ers, which had so long been sole occupants, with the fun- 
gi, insects, and rubbish of all descriptions, were soon be- 
somed from both within and around the cabin ; when, de- 
lighted with her success, Maggie sang out cheerily, 

“ Papa, papa ! do come and see how neat and cosy, I 
have made your gay establishment.” 

But Dr. Dickson had passed dreamily within a sacred 
penetralia, christened with holier and purer thoughts ; he 
heeded her not. Going to him, Maggie placed her arms 
carelessly around his neck and said petulantly, 

“ Mrs. Lee, always in connection with you, speaks of a 
labor of love which it is still mine to accomplish — what 
can it be, papa ? I do try to love you, but you will not 
notice me ; you think me weak and foolish, perhaps, and 
so I am ; but Mrs. Lee says I can improve ; and, in- 
deed, I think I have already improved — what do you 
say ?” 

And walking erectly before him, she then stood smil- 
ingly, as if for inspection. Dr. Dickson gazed long and 
thoughtfully upon her. There was a brighter look in 
poor Maggie’s face than he had anticipated. He had 
long thought his own wickedness had palsied and crushed 
the last remaining treasures ; but here was one, bound by 


15 6 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / OiZ, 

strong ties, still claiming sympathy, to whom he might 
yet repay the fearful neglect of years. 

“ Come, Maggie/’ he said tenderly, and his arms were 
instantly extended toward her, “ your father has not been 
faithful, I confess ; but perhaps the future may yet atone 
for the frightful deficiency. And has Mrs. Lee indeed 
spoken often to you, Maggie, of your unregenerate parent 
and your duty to him ?” 

“ Truly she has, papa. She spoke of days when, not 
an outcast, but respected, in a charming little home, you 
had been kindly affectionate to poor suffering mamma and 
Ida ; but then, you know, I never knew those days.” 

The father shivered. The very simplicity and truthful- 
ness of the child whom he had so long deemed almost 
idiotic, stunned him. Many moments elapsed before he 
could speak. At last he said mournfully, “ Maggie, God 
has indeed blessed us in placing you under the guidance 
of such a being as Mrs. Lee, for she is one of the few, 
who feel deeply, the magnitude of the responsibility of 
training children. She is one of the few,” and he spoke 
solemnly, “ who realize in this degenerate age that * pure 
religion and undefiled. before God and the Father is this: 
“To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and 
to keep one’s self unspotted from the world.” ’ ” 

Tears fell thickly from the eyes of the truly penitent 
man. Maggie, then, had not been taught to hate this 
miserable apology of a father; and he, what had he not 
to hope for in this revelation? To walk proudly once 
more amid his fellow-men; to feel that this innocent, 
clinging child looked up to him alone, for protection. 
Ah! what happiness it would be. The glamour of a 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


J 57 


peaceful existence was pulsating slowly through his 
wrecked frame ; but he had long struggled in dangerous 
eddies, and the fallen man shuddered lest his dream of 
bliss might escape his grasp. 

The resplendence of noontide glory, with its golden 
armory of beauty, had long dazzled Maggie by its glow ; 
on disburdening her heavily laden basket of the luxuries 
which Mrs. Lee's thoughtfulness had prompted her to 
bring to her father, she sauntered slowly toward the 
grove. The shady walk back seemed very silent: all 
chirping and twittering was hushed, as if birds as well as 
man indulged in their noon siesta. 

Naught indeed evoking echoes, save the occasional 
ringing laugh of Maggie as her approach dispersed some 
startled leveret from her pathway. Finally, the neat, snug 
cottage of Mrs. Lobeaux came in view, from which she 
distinctly heard low, mournful sounds ; but pausing not to 
inquire the cause, she quickened, as rapidly her footsteps, 
as though some hideous basilisk had arisen before her, 
whose very hiss threatened annihilation; and welcome, 
very welcome seemed a glimpse of the ponderous gate 
of Poplar Grove, an ingress into which, she instinctively 
felt, would shield her from all further danger. 

Maggie did not brood over troubles willingly; her 
childhood had been far from pleasant, and now in the 
sunny days of her existence she longed to thrust quickly 
from life each dawning sorrow. A mimosa within the hal- 
lowed inclosure of the only home she had ever truly 
loved, dispersed, by the beauty of its exquisitely airy 
flowerets, even the withering gleam of shade which by 
its temporary reminder had threatened to darken her 


158 MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

young heart, and soon she was encircled within a wreath 
of rare beauty which became well, her beaming face. 

“ Maggie and flowers, how charmingly they assimilate ! 
Look, look, mamma! when have you seen any thing as 
bewitchingly lovely ? — a very fairy draped in her genuine 
adornings. ,, 

“ Indeed, they are synonymous ; for when can we ever 
find Maggie without those golden showers of beauty, with 
which God blessed not only the maturity of southern 
summers, but our lovely springs and resplendent autumns. 
Marian, who could ever recognize in this dancing, gay 
little sprite the same being who, some time since, coming 
slowly up the avenue in her eccentric costume, excited 
so strongly our mirth ?” 

Mrs. Lee and Marian both laughed heartily at even 
the recollection, which did not fail to arrest Maggie’s 
attention, by whom, hitherto, their approach had been 
unnoticed. She peeped shyly up, and, entering into their 
glee, cast at their feet her little pets. 

“ Maggie,” said Mrs. Lee, “ you have been absent a 
long time; you must have found your father exceedingly 
attractive this morning.” 

“ Indeed, I did ; he is very, very different since his re- 
turn. But where are you all going?” 

“To Mrs. Lobeaux’s. Did you hear any thing from 
little Helen as you passed ?” 

“ O Mrs. Lee ! such gloomy moans issued from the 
cottage, that I did not stop one moment to ask how she 
was. I thought perhaps it was the chant of the frightful 
banshees, and fled.” 

“ Maggie, Maggie, can I never eradicate from your 




TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


159 

mind the foolish superstitions, you imbibed during your 
early wanderings ?” 

Maggie drooped her head. Adulation from the lips of 
Mrs. Lee or Marian was the sweetest boon her young 
heart craved, and their censure was positive pain. 

Mrs. Lee, noticing Maggie’s evident embarrassment, 
petted her cheek soothingly, and, bidding her be more 
thoughtful in the future, Marian and herself passed hur- 
riedly on. 

“ Mamma !” exclaimed Marian, “ I think the Egyptians, 
in the past, in some things displayed far more wisdom 
than we do. Could we only have an Acherusian lake, 
with the forty-two judges bearing their insignia of office, 
installed upon the shore at the hour of sepulture to deny 
transportation to our dead — unless rectitude and the strict- 
est morality had marked their course in life — perhaps we 
should have less dissipation and vice, and more virtue ; 
fewer children who bear upon their brows and in their 
conversation the stamp of early neglect, such as often 
poor Maggie displays; but which, fortunately for her, your 
untiring efforts may yet cancel, before she reaches ma- 
turity.” 

“ True, Marian, public opinion ever bears weight ; and 
I think, with you, the very thought of being thus dis- 
honored in the midst of a world we have struggled to 
please, might oftentimes deter, even the purest, from many 
acts which they are daily committing. But, in relation to 
Dr. Dickson, I have great hopes of reformation yet. Your 
father tells me he is strangely changed. He has been com- 
pelled, through want of means, frequently since his wife’s 
death, to forego free indulgence in drinks ; consequent- 


160 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

ly, in his lucid moments, an intense yearning has seized 
him for a better life ; and may we not hope that even 
Maggie’s influence may prove advantageous ; for there is 
something strongly interesting about the child. Even 
now there are glances of intelligence visible, as her mind 
slowly expands, which can not but be pleasing to a pa- 
rent.” 

On reaching Mrs. Lobeaux’s, they found grief, deep 
grief, in her recently happy home, where the merry voice 
of a sprightly child had long gladdened the household. 
But now the joyous thrill was hushed, and imbedded 
amid the purest flowers which fond friends could procure. 
She seemed awaiting peacefully the removal to another 
home. Two simple verses, which had so struck little 
Claude Laselle’s youthful fancy — plucked from a news- 
paper — in the memorizing of which she had enlisted Ma- 
rian’s assistance, and which she now daily repeated, as if 
death in thought were often with the child, arose instantly 
to Marian’s mind, as her look dwelt upon the serene 
sleeper. 

“ Smooth the hair and close the eyelids, 

Let the window-curtain fall ; 

With a smile upon her features, 

She hath answered to the call. 

“ Let the children kiss her gently, 

As she lies upon the bed. 

God hath called her to his bosom ; 

And the little one is dead!’ 

So natural, so peaceful seemed the expression, that Marian 
could scarcely realize that she stood in the presence of 
death. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


161 


All were weeping around this beautiful image except 
the mother ; she, alone in her own apartment, knelt and 
prayed. The soft, liquid voice which had fallen so heal- 
ingly upon saddened hearts amid the wild hamlet at the 
foot of Olives — which bade the buried Lazarus “ come 
forth ” — awakening glad music in Bethany — had sent its 
thrilling strains from holy Palestine to the wounded mo- 
ther; and, alone with her Maker, she was pleading that 
those same silvery accents which had breathed happiness 
in ages past, might again whisper to a bleeding heart that 
the dead was only sleeping. 

To tell her that she was pleading an impossibility, would 
have been a mockery, and none could do it. He had 
bade her ask in faith ; and she believed she would not be 
denied. It was the only child of her bosom ; and huma- 
nity was weak. She was loth to yield it up. Suddenly, 
as all watched and wept, a slight quiver, a feeble pulsa- 
tion, was visible ; and the bright eyes opened once more 
to the glad light of day. A wild cry of joy rang through 
the house, the glad echo reached the mother’s heart ; and, 
in the excess of her emotion, she became utterly uncon- 
scious. The intimation given had been too sudden ; the 
mother had fainted. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The golden orb of day, which had mantled nature for a 
while with its crimson blush, carried with its receding steps 
the weary sigh of the laborer, as it ushered in the hour of 
return to his humble though peaceful home; and the 
shades of evening were creeping rapidly in, mellowing the 
earth by their delicate, sombre touches, softening each 
dome and spire of the city. 

Again we pause, spellbound, in front of the same ele- 
gant mansion in Philadelphia which has previously at- 
tracted us. Two forms were plainly visible, walking slowly 
amid the shrubbery, engaged in earnest conversation. 

“ Why is it, Ida,” speaks Lucien Whitsell in low tones, 
“ that you cling so pertinaciously to this being, 

“ ‘ Who loves no music but the dollar’s clink ’ ?” 

“ Alone, from a sense of duty, and high-toned principle, 
Lucien. Would you have me a mark for ridicule and dis- 
grace in the community, or a being to whom all must 
turn to pity, cringing beneath the blighting blasts of 
mortification? Alas! no. There should be a sacred 
adytum within each home, strictly veiled and guarded 
from the public eye, which is so eager to feast its hydra 
vision within the holy sanctum of others. Publicity, to 
some extent, my sad lot has already gained. But even 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST. 1 63 

you, Lucien — loving me, as I am confident you do — would 
shield me from a prying world. Marie, I thought, had 
already convinced us both, of the fallacy and turpitude of 
your past argument.” 

“ O Ida ! were your fate only different. To feel that 
you are forever bound to one who is incapable of appre- 
ciating your genuine worship ; for 

“ * The kindly throbs that other men control 
Ne’er melt the iron of the miser’s soul; 

Through life’s dark road his sordid way he wends, 

An incarnation of fat dividends.’ 

And such, alas ! is the husband and protector of one, whom 
I have so earnestly longed to make mine own. And must 
this tie remain forever unbroken ?” 

“ Forever — ha ! ha ! ha ! The grave will soon claim 
its own ; and then — but not till then — Ida will be free.” 

Lucien Whitsell and Ida looked upon each other with 
amazement. It seemed so like a sibilation from another 
world. Alas ! could it be that they were plunged within 
some deleterious malaria, where fiends incarnate lurked 
— where ghastly phantoms were assuming shapes which 
would soon poison them by their emanations ? 

A feeble man tottered forward. He had been conceal- 
ed for some time, by the dense foliage and the thickening 
gloom of coming night. In his agony, the little currants 
near by, had been crushed within his tightly-clinched 
hands ; and the pink liquid had oozed and trickled over 
his garments, presenting a strange contrast with his pallid 
complexion. 

Ida fell insensible into the arms of Lucien, as she re- 
cognized the unearthly appearance and sepulchral tones 


164 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR) 


of her husband. But, unheeding her condition, he passed 
slowly on into the house, closing the door with his feeble, 
trembling hands, as if thereby he could shut out the 
sorrow which the words of his wife and her lover had in- 
flicted. 

Lucien Whitsell bent over the idol of his heart, bowed 
down with uncontrollable grief. He kissed her pallid lips 
repeatedly, beseeching her to speak only one word, 
to assure him that the feeble, flickering life, which had 
known so much gloom, would still pulsate and brighten 
beneath his burning love. 

“ Poor Ida!” he murmured, as he pressed her to his 
heart, “the unkindness of the past is withering your 
young life, and I, in my impotency, can not even shield 
you from the tortures inflicted.” 

Bearing her to the library, he placed her tenderly upon 
the sofa, and summoned Marie Toleman to his assistance. 
Long, they used restoratives ; and the weary eyes at length 
opened upon the anxious watchers. 

“ Go, Lucien,” she whispered, as soon as memory re- 
called the trying scene through which she had passed ; “ let 
me bear this effluence of unutterable woe which my own 
false step caused. I have been wrong in meeting you 
this evening. Forgive the pain which I necessarily inflict ; 
but this must not occur again. Marie, Marie, be our 
guardian angel to-night, as you have been before, and in- 
duce Lucien to desist from pleadings which can only, if 
listened to, produce guilty consciences and stinging re- 
morse ; for indeed my own nature, I fear, is too weak to 
tread the path of duty without you, my pure sister, as a 
stay and support.” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 165 

An hour later, Lucien Whitsell passed out of the front 
door, and paused not even to glance at a tall, elegant 
form which stood upon the marble steps, awaiting an an- 
swer to his own impatient ring. 

“ I would see Mr. Swaby immediately/’ he said, in an 
excited manner, as the servant took his card and con- 
ducted him to the parlor. 

He gazed around the handsome, tastily arranged apart- 
ment with uncontrollable surprise. The delicately chisel- 
ed, bronzed lamps were casting their brilliant light over 
each exquisite work of art, displaying their peculiar 
charms to the bewildered eye of the stranger, under the 
most advantageous circumstances. It was a scene of lov- 
liness over which the dilettante would have bowed in si- 
lent adoration ; one, which had been undoubtedly alche- 
mized by fairy fingers into that of beauty. 

Three portraits invited his attention : the first was that 
of a young girl, with a clear, olive complexion, and cheeks 
and lips of vermilion dye ; rich, purplish hair, soul-impas- 
sioned eyes ; and one might fancy, a voice almost articu- 
lating from the slightly parted lips. 

“ A being born,” the stranger slowly exclaimed, “ for 
marvelous sacrifices — capable of silencing her own imma- 
culate dreams of happiness, and laying them, withered and 
torn, at the feet of one idolized. God grant she may 
never have known the test of thus upheaving for another 
her own lofty aspirations — her own wild throbbings of 
love ; for within those stirring depths, which the beaming 
eye unfolds, are prejudices wondrously dark to the de- 
ceiver, or he who is in the slightest degree unworthy of 
her esteem.” 

He turned with a painful sigh to another ; it was the 


1 66 MAID EE, TEE ALCHEMIST / OR 

softened lineaments of a blonde, and, in gazing on it, the 
delectable promise, fell in measured tones from his lips, 
“ Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the 
children of God.” The very reiteration of these words, 
which had fallen from Him around whose brow a halo of 
light ever lingers, was soothing. To feel that one existed 
whose very countenance so plainly indexed the fact that 
she was fulfilling the destiny for which her life had been 
bestowed, was a pleasing contemplation rarely given, and 
he dwelt long and thoughtfully upon it. 

“ Oh !” he murmured, “ to have such a sister — to unveil 
my wounded heart before those mild, sympathetic eyes ! 
To list to the healing words, which, I am confident, she 
could utter, thereby mitigating the corroding pain by 
which I am daily and hourly pierced. What bliss it would 
be ! But, sweet harbinger of peace, whoever you may be, 
I thank you for even the moment of tranquillity, which 
your pure face has reflected.” 

The next were the features of an aged man ; but so no- 
ble, so indicative of calm, disinterested religion, that the 
heart of the looker-on, was filled with unutterable yearn- 
ings to meet so pure a type moulded in his Maker’s im- 
age. 

u Worthy, most worthy art thou,” he said, “ of the love 
which, I am persuaded, you have ever engendered within 
the heart of your fellow-man.” 

In another portion of the apartment hung an exquisite 
painting of the last days of Pompeii. How life-like, how 
real it seemed ! All were hurrying from the doomed city, 
trembling lest the tufa and scoriae might bury and over- 
whelm them, thereby rendering life extinct, save the beau- 
teous, blind girl who, in her innocence and fearlessness, 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 167 

had stooped to pluck a few stray flowers which had ar- 
rested her attention by the grateful fragrance with which 
they were thanking man for his past culture. Ah ! what 
a surpassing vision of purity and truth. What a lesson 
to man of his own weakness ; yet how thrilling the faith 
those sightless orbs display ! What perfect confidence in 
her God ! Bulwer, the artist has indeed by this exquisite 
delineation immortalized thy work, rich and independent 
though its own intrinsic worth is, in gems of beautiful 
thought and feeling. 

Wherever he turned, little mementoes of foreign travel 
were visible : souvenirs from Herculaneum, which the nu- 
merous excavations had yielded up ; shells marked from 
Como’s lake, the very sight of which recalled once more 
the elegant villas, among which the Villa d’Este, which 
had so long sheltered England’s queen, seemed most con- 
spicuous. Once more he was intensely interested, fathom- 
ing with his eager eyes, the beauty of the clear basin of 
water, breathing the delicious atmosphere of Italy, wooed, 
as it were, into a dreamy forgetfulness of all but the plea- 
sures which were then so eagerly courted. 

Whisperings from Switzerland, too, lingered upon the 
etagere , a nucleus, as it were, in his own mind, where clus- 
tered rare views of lofty mountains, pearly cascades, 
shimmering beneath the noonday sun ; where the eager 
mountaineer laved his lacerated feet, which the rugged, 
precipitous steeps had not spared ; enormous glaciers, in 
whose rapid descent the huge boulders were hurled from 
their giddy heights, crushing, in their ponderous fall the 
unfortunate, whether he be man, beast, or insect, that came 
in the pathway. 

Upon a table, inlaid with lovely mosaics, rested a paint- 


i68 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


ing of a dimpled, fair-haired child, so like the lovely blonde 
whose picture he had been loth to leave, that he felt like 
clasping it to his heart. She was dallying in her tiny, 
graceful hand a shell, unique in beauty, upon which was 
distinctly legible the prayer, “ Our Father which art in 
heaven, hallowed be thy name.” How quickly it repro- 
duced before him the form of that widowed mother, by 
whose side he had first learned to lisp those holy words, 
now alone in her desolation, awaiting, in her luxurious 
home, the return of her idolized son. 

His eye passed weariedly from the little painting, which 
created, in the midst of its loveliness, a saddened reminis- 
cence, and surveyed once more the entire apartment. 

“ Surely,” he said, “ I must be mistaken in the place of 
his abode ; so much refinement and elegance are here dis- 
played that it is impossible the foul originator of so baleful 
an imbroglio in the past, the fiendish homicide, could sul- 
ly, even for a moment, so peaceful a scene with his pre- 
sence. Ah ! were it his, even the cobra di capello would 
have the power to arise and touch these emblems of beau- 
ty with its venomous sting, thereby tarnishing each sign of 
innocence into an object of hate and loathing.” 

Feeling in a side pocket, he drew a note slowly out, 
which seemed to have been written in much haste and in 
great excitement. Again he read, 

“The vile instigator of the murder of Paul Mahon’s 
father is dying a slow, torturous death, and implores him, 
if he would assist in alleviating to some extent the death- 
bed of a truly humble and repentant man, by lifting, as 
far as he is capable, the terrible burden which is sinking 
him into the tomb, that he will seek immediately his home, 
No. 120 street, Philadelphia.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


“ ’Tis a fine thought, that some time, end we must. 

Then sets the sun of suns ! dies in all fire, 

Like Asher’s death — great monarch. God of might ! 

We love and live on power. It is spirit’s end. 

Mind must subdue. To conquer is its life. 

Why mad’st thou not our spirit, like the sun, 

To king the world ? And oh ! might I have been 
That sun-mind, how I would have warmed the world 
To love and worship and bright life!” 

“Yes, to be that one great ‘ sun-mind,’ which should 
lead man into holiest temples; to teach him that by 
thwarting and trampling upon sacred rights, he but 
mars God’s beauteous earth ; that by crushing affec- 
ion’s ties, he alone makes himself a piteous wreck of 
folly and evil — what a privilege it would be; but alas! 
such is denied to human power. Man, and woman too, 
stand within the portal of the loved and loving, holding 
aloft their wands of evil ; darkening the dazzling crystal 
light with which religion and love would fain drape their 
divine altars; blighting, by their vitiated, poisonous breaths, 
the germs of peace ; and the world alone whispers in its on- 
ward course, ‘ Let them alone, we can not lessen the tor- 
rent.’ When we, in our zeal, plead the power and strength 
of public opinion, if it would but rear citadels of good, 
which would not countenance a trangressor of those di- 


170 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 


vine laws which, in thunder tones, still speak from Sinai's 
heights, we are laughed at, and ridiculed for our inge- 
nuousness. On all sides hearing the plea that the world 
is not responsible, and with their hands warmly clasped 
within that of the originators of evil, we see them pass 
smilingly on, still unchecked in their vileness, because, for- 
sooth, others are not magnanimous enough to discounte- 
nance atrocities, in whatever form or shape they may ap- 
pear; because, in fact, craven hearts fear to assert their 
abhorrence of baseness, lest their very assertion for good, 
should quench the current of their prosperity or pleasure !" 

“ ‘ Let each man think himself an act of God, 

His mind a thought, his life a breath of God ; 

And let each try, by, great thoughts and good deeds, 

To show the most of heaven he hath in him.’ 

“ Pardon my interruption and repetition of an excerpt, 
which man but rarely reflects upon or realizes, I fancy. I 
have been an interested listener to the sentiments which 
you, in your soliloquy, little dreamed another would trea- 
sure up, and could not forego the pleasure of introducing 
myself to you in a similar strain." 

The words were uttered in a low, tremulous accent, as if 
almost fearful that her meaning might be misconstrued, and 
her manner deemed bold. Paul Mahon arose, and extend- 
ed his hand to the speaker. 

“ Your pardon is already granted ; and will I be asking 
too much when I inquire the name of a listener to thoughts 
of which I fear my own sad life has been, to a great extent, 
he originator ?" 

“ Certainly not It is Mrs. Toleman. Excuse my re- 
missness in not mentioning it sooner." 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


171 

“Then, thank God, this semblance of truth and beauty 
is not unreal, and I am not in the home of a murderer.” 

“ Murderer !” Marie Toleman grasped quickly the 
nearest chair for support; her look of intense agony 
would have softened feelings of granite. 

“Murderer!” she almost shrieked; “oh! no, that can 
not, can not be. I know him to be guilty of some 
crime which has been the means of ruining not only his 
own happiness, but that of my noble, self-sacrificing 
sister ; but do not tell me it is that of murder ! Do not 
tell me that the escutcheons of our noble house are for- 
ever stained by so heinous an alliance !” 

The words were spoken in piteous, plaintive tones ; the 
pleading eye, which would not brook concealments now, 
pierced Paul Mahon to the heart. He placed her gently 
in a chair. 

“ Mrs. Toleman, forgive my hasty words; there may 
yet be some great mistake, and God grant that there is.” 

“ No, no, your suspicions must be correct. I feel it, I 
know it; if not, why those maniacal ravings at times? 
why those intense longings to meet one whom he protests 
he has deeply wronged ? And you, Mr. Mahon, must be 
the one. O my Father ! in great mercy prepare my 
sister for this terrible blow.” 

For a few moments she ceased speaking; her whole 
attitude denoted that a silent prayer was still ascending 
upward to the Great Unseen; and Paul Mahon was in 
wonder and amazement that one so marvelously lovely 
and pure, could thus be linked with the murderer of his 
father. It seemed inexplicable. How he longed for a 


172 MATDEE , TEE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

solution of the mystery ! But springing suddenly up, she 
looked imploringly toward him. 

“ Oh !” she exclaimed despairingly, “ for the sake of my 
sister, for the sake of my aged mother, for my own and 
the reputation of my innocent child, you will not give 
publicity to this matter ; you will not arrest him ; O Mr. 
Mahon ! tell me that you will not do it ?” 

In her misery she sank upon her knees before him. 

“ Calm yourself, dear Mrs. Toleman. I give you my 
sacred word as a gentleman that I will not. For years I 
sought him, vowing that the slayer of my father should 
not live. The dagger with which his heart had been 
pierced was sharpened afresh for his murderer; but ah 
my mother! — my peerless, suffering mother — pursued me 
with her prayers and entreaties; tearfully she reiterated, 
‘ Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord At last the grim, 
stern chastisement of faith and discipline through which 
my young life had been strictly guided, together with her 
aged counsels, checked me in my maddened course, and 
when I tremblingly dedicated my remaining life to the 
service of my Maker, I promised there and then that the 
object of my just hatred should only, in eternity, find his 
punishment.” 

A deep sigh of relief escaped Marie Toleman. 

“ Come, then,” she said mournfully, “ a son raised by 
one wno could give such advice in her own overwhelming 
grief is to be relied upon. Come, Mr. Swaby is waiting 
for you.” 

They ascended the stairs slowly. Years of sorrow 
seemed imprinted upon the face of the lovely guide. She 
paused, at last in front of a door which was slightly 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . I 73 

opened ; turning and looking earnestly upon Paul Ma- 
hon, she said with evident emotion, 

“You are not deceiving me. You will do nothing 
harsh or unworthy of your early training ?” 

“A smile, a ghastly, withering smile, 

Convulsive o’er her features played.” 

He witnessed her struggles for composure and betrayed 
confidence with pain, and his noble nature could not but 
pity. 

“ On, on,” he almost moaned ; “ let me hear the sequel 
of this terrible tragedy. Believe me, I can be trusted.” 
And they entered. 

Resting upon a bed, supported by pillows, counting 
some gold, was the miserable object which for years Paul 
Mahon had sought vainly; but so interested seemed he 
in the treasure before him, that the presence of the two 
was unnoticed. 

A perfect whirlwind of detestation and hatred leaped 
into Paul Mahon’s dark, piercing eyes ; but Marie Tole- 
man, watchful of the slightest change upon his counte- 
nance, laid her soft hand upon his own, and in low, musi- 
cal tones murmured, 

“ I say unto you, love your enemies ; bless them that 
curse you ; do good to them that hate you, and pray for 
them which despitefully use you and persecute you; 

“That ye may be children of your Father which is in 
heaven ; for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on 
the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the 
unjust.” 

The “lava flood” — seething in its fierce state — a flood 


174 


MAIDEE ’ THE ALCHEMIST / OK, 


which he had so sincerely hoped had been mastered, was 
stilled and checked by the gentle touch and those magi- 
cal words ; a grateful pressure of her hand was his only 
response. Mr. Swaby, attracted by the words and voices, 
looked quickly up and extended his feeble, trembling 
arms, imploringly. 

“ Paul, Paul, have I not suffered enough ? Marie is 
right. Let those holy words, which she has just repeated, 
plead for me. Ah ! the grim, unrelenting storm. Devils 
have confronted me at every step since the fatal deed was 
committed — calling loudly upon the perjured, vile mis- 
creant for a restitution of the filthy lucre which had 
damned and forever lost his miserable soul ; and here is 
the glittering coin ; it is all here. I have been long 
within a fiery abyss, in which not even a delicate tendril 
flourished which I could clutch ; where not the smallest 
ray of happiness could penetrate which afforded the 
slightest relief ; and at times in my madness I felt almost 
goaded on to the maniac’s refuge — suicide. But now, 
now I can die ; not with the assurance of your pardon — 
that I could not hope for — but with the reflection, which 
bears a meagre comfort, that even at this late hour I have 
done all that I could. 

“Your father’s dying image is every moment before 
me, coming around and stifling all of the ardent, enthu- 
siastic dreams which in early manhood I had hoped 
would be realized. That one crime has proved a leprous 
spot, from which I intuitively fell even here; although I 
knew, in my lucid moments, the deed was still unknown. 
Both man and beast must inwardly shrink from me. 
This thought caused me to withdraw more and more 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


I 75 


from association with my fellow-men; until finally, de- 
barred from free communion with my race, to toy and 
fondle in seclusion the miser’s passion seemed the only 
amusement left. But satiated and disgusted at length 
with the very coin for which I had buried my peace and 
honor, its very touch burning and scorching the fingers 
extended to grasp it ; all fears subsiding, an eager, insa- 
tiable wish seized me to behold you once more ; to re- 
store to the rightful possessor, that which I knew to be 
his own. Your generous, magnanimous mother, whom I 
knew to be a very Alcestis in devotion — she whom I had 
so irretrievably wronged, whose happiness, my conscience 
told me I had forever destroyed — I could not meet ; but 
hope whispered that the young could more readily forget 
Therefore, knowing that Apollyon was fast snapping the 
life-current of my miserable existence, I wrote for you, 
Paul ; scarcely hoping, yet oh ! so sincerely praying — if 
the wretched and wicked can pray — that you would listen 
to my appeal and seek me immediately.” 

Paul Mahon, with his face buried in his hands, was 
leaning heavily against the window for support. He 
raised his haggard face and looked upon Mr. Swaby with 
unmistakable loathing — a feeling which could not be con- 
cealed. 

“ Mark Swaby !” — the voice was calm, but stern and 
reproachful — “ I knew and felt that you were my father’s 
murderer ; but I did not know the one half of your base 
ness. I dreamed not that it was for the sake of that 
filthy pile you could take the life of your fellow-man, and 
that man your benefactor; one who had raised you, as 
it were, from the very dregs of society. We thought 


176 


MAID EE ^ THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 


hat perhaps in a moment of passion hasty words had 
been exchanged, and that thus the act had been com- 
mitted; but why should I have explained it in such a 
manner ? 

“ ‘ Men say, as proud as Lucifer. 

Pray, who would not be proud with such a train ? 

Hath he not all the honor of the earth ? 

Why Mammon sits before a million hearths, 

When God is bolted out from every house.’ 

“You know I never liked you; I warned my father 
time after time; but he, in his blind fondness for you, 
deemed my words foolish. Would to God the film could 
have been withdrawn from his eyes, and perhaps we 
would not now have been deploring and mourning his ter- 
rible fate. From dreamy limnings of beauty, from floating 
reveries both sad and pleasing, his upright, manly fea- 
tures — features which were the rich heirlooms of noble 
ancestry — have never for one moment been withdrawn ; 
and alas ! by its side, another, hideous, distorted, the object 
of my greatest aversion, has, notwithstanding my earnest 
efforts to banish it, remained still, to tempt me to a deed 
from which my whole soul recoils : a deed which were I 
to commit would crimson my manhood with an ineffable 
stain, which not even years of repentance could obliterate. 
It is thus, Mark Swaby, I regard the murder of even a 
man who can be naught but a curse to the world ; and 
yet you could with your own hand take the life of one 
who had been every thing to you — father, friend, and 
brother.” 

“ Oh! no, no; not with my own hands. I am wicked, it 
is true; deserving of every reproach which you may 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


177 


lavish upon me ; a being whom you can not more utterly 
abhor than I do; a poor miserable wreck, who has not 
felt the witchery and comfort of one word of love since 
he withdrew from your father’s household ; but oh ! I did 
not commit the act, although equally as vile when I 
countenanced and instigated it.” 

“ Ah ! is that so ? Then why is it that when I arrived 
upon the spot, after years of absence, when finding the 
form I had so idolized still deluged in his warm life-blood, 
that your image alone was reflected upon the retina ?” 

Mr. Swaby sprang wildly forward. 

“ Ha ! is that true, Paul Mahon ? Is that the reason 
you knew my guilt ? I knew you were pursuing me with 
unrelenting hatred for years, but why you suspected me 
I could not divine. Alas ! the fact that your father deem- 
ed me his sole murderer, has been one of the causes of my 
greatest grief : it has caused these locks to silver, long be- 
fore their time. My accomplice was entirely concealed, 
and I, unfortunately, ushered into his presence before life 
became extinct. Oh ! I can never forget that dying look ; 
it will haunt me to the tomb. His own words of compas- 
sion and pity for me even then; for alas ! he did not utter 
one word of censure — he pitied. And will you not too, 
Paul Mahon, emulate the nobility of your fathers nature, 
and speak gently, even in the midst of your natural loath- 
ing, to one who now needs commiseration instead of taunts, 
to lighten the gloom into which he is hastening ? fast, very 
fast ? And there is still one request you will not deny me. 
Ida knows nothing of this ; can not I hope that the terri- 
ble act may forever remain concealed? She suspects 


178 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


much, but knows nothing positive. Marie, Paul, you will 
not reveal it ? O my God ! you will not do it ? Promise 
me ! Promise me ! ” 

He glared wildly from one to another, and fell back in- 
sensible as the words “We promise ” fell slowly from their 
lips. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


“ * All things are calm, and fair, and passive ; earth 
Looks as if lulled upon an angel’s lap, 

Into a breathless, dewy sleep so still.’ 

“ Alas ! how little in harmony with my own conflicting, 
rebellious nature. The cabala of the past, within whose 
wiry woof I have become so singularly entangled — the 
penumbra of which has trammeled so mercilessly brave 
and buoyant hopes — when will its dark scroll be illumi- 
nated, and, by uplifting the concealing drapery, bid me 
float amid ambient clouds of bliss or woe ? Any thing 
but this terrible suspense — this tainted garniture which, at 
times, bids me hope, at others weep.” 

Marian was seated upon one of the metal chairs, orna- 
tures of beauty which were so freely interspersed amid the 
lovely grounds where her childhood’s happiness, blending 
with maidenly sorrow, had been quietly borne. The soft 
green turf yielded to the rapid pattering of the impatient 
foot, which seemed so deeply to sympathize with the moody, 
wondering fair one. But rising suddenly with a long-drawn 
sigh, she exclaimed weariedly, 

“ Must this fata morgana forever entice, alluring me 
into this dreamy, listless, inactive existence, even contrary 
to my own views of duty? No, no; it shall not be, but 
like the lakelet, 


180 MAIDEE) THE ALCHEMIST / OB , 

“ ‘No longer vexed with gusts, 

Replaces on her breast the pictured moon, 

Pearled round with stars,’ 

so shall my bosom, alone mirror sunlit beams, the emana- 
tions of a life strictly devoted to usefulness. Yes, mamma, 
yes ; amid the golden creations which your loved voice is 
ever whispering and planning, in ameliorating as you are 
daily doing, the sufferings of others, I am confident this 
stifling miasma will vanish ; and its mezzotint may yet mel- 
low into pearly vapors of surpassing beauty. Little cloud- 
lets beneath your guiding hand have been dispersed, and, 
while heeding your admonitions, a life of ineffable sweet- 
ness may yet be mine. Golden fruits matured, and ready 
for the reapers when the busy harvest-time approaches ; 
for it would be indeed gloomy, at the twilight hour which 
none can escape, to find, as you already have admonito- 
rily whispered, my diadem of brightness missing. 

“ My noble, precious step-mother, thanks to your patient 
care, holy Cithara echoes are indeed reawakening me 
into existence ; and even now the silent breathings of the 
sainted dead must be wafting around you gentle, loving 
words — words of untold gratitude that the motherless one, 
in her murmur and repining, has not been cast off, with no 
tone of sympathy or cheer to beckon her back to happi- 
ness and duty. Ah ! your noble example, linked with all 
that is pure, what has it not been to me ? 

“ Hitherto, though longing to benefit my fellow-being, I 
shrank from it — fearing, like the incomparable horologist, 
the unfortunate Dasypodius, who dreamed, in his midnight 
Weations, of bestowing upon his loved Strasbourg a memo- 
rial of taste, beauty, ingenuity, and highly-wrought me- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


181 


chanism, which should draw from far and wide the curio- 
sity-loving traveler — I should reap for myself ingratitude 
and entire misconception. The jealous guarding magis- 
trate of his city’s boast would have blinded forever this 
genius who had grown so suddenly into fame, lest he 
might draw from his mechanical knowledge, his copious 
draughts, an object equally as beautiful in some sister 
city ; and so in daily life the philanthropist is often check- 
ed and shackled ; the defending cestus necessarily placed 
upon his hands, because he has frequently to overwhelm 
hideous burdens, when words of encouragement, only, 
should have cheered him on in his glorious work. But 
away with doubts and fears! Now — gloom, corroding 
gloom, let me henceforth banish, and upon the pages 
of the future alone read duty’s stern, unwavering lessons !” 

She paused for a moment to seek her hat, which the 
soft winds were unmercifully tossing from side to side, 
then stooped and petted a beautiful dog, which had long 
been casting its intelligent glances upon its fair mistress, 
as if in pity. 

“ Come, Macra, you must be my cicerone and protector 
this afternoon, in a tramp to the village. A long walk will 
do us both good. Brave, noble Macra, equally faithful in 
misfortune or prosperity — the worthy namesake of thy il- 
lustrious predecessor, whom, it may be, Erigone, in her lov- 
ing moods oft fondled, as I have ever done you. But, 
like them, we must anticipate our garlands of bitterness as 
well as joy.” 

The beautiful hound, as if fully comprehending her 
words, arose at her bidding, walking, with head proudly 
erect, by her side^ 


182 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 

“ Whither so hastily, my daughter ?” 

“ Only to the village. I require exercise, and am deter- 
mined to cast off the lassitude which has for days oppress- 
ed me, and go for the mail.” 

“We are then exchanging places for the present, Marian ; 
for, as you already must see, I am attending to a matter of 
yours, in which you have been strangely remiss of late.” 

“ Poor bayas ! I dcTplead guilty to your charge. They 
have not suffered though, papa, have they? Your quiet 
smile and well-known thoughtfulness betrays, however, 
without summoning to my aid magical arts. Indeed, 
now that I perceive my duty has not been unfulfilled, there 
appears but one cause for apprehension, and that is, that 
the vacillating creatures will withdraw their love, and place 
it in worthier hands.” 

But as she spoke, the innocent, happy ones fluttered ex- 
citedly around her, as if their ebullitions of joy would serve 
as a rebuke for seeming doubts ; some, in their happiness, 
lighted gently upon her shoulder, while others vied in their 
efforts to receive the first caress which her loving hands 
were extended to give. 

Her father approached closely to her, with a warm, lov- 
ing light in his dark eye, and raising the wan face upward, 
as if he would there trace each tinge or shade which could 
be token of change, he remarked tenderly, 

“ You see, dear Marian, how entirely all hearts at the 
Grove beat in unison with your own ; how entirely nature, 
both animate and inanimate, throbbingly responds to your 
joy and sorrow. The poet has truly said, 

“ ‘The spider’s most attenuated web 
Is cord, is cable, to man’s tender tie 
Of earthly bliss ; it breaks at every breeze.’ 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 183 

If applicable to man, how much more so to the most sen- 
sitive organization which God, in his wisdom, has ever pro- 
duced, woman, with all of her eager cravings for love and 
tenderness, but alas ! so seldom realized ; for too often the 
doting, obsequious lover subsides into a cold, indifferent 
husband.” 

“ But within our home, papa, I can find true happiness. 
Here, truly, genuine love, peace, and concord reign su- 
preme.” 

“ But will this satisfy, my darling ? Could I but believe 
it, Marian ; could I but know that the past was not too 
deeply mourned and deplored, it would relieve me from 
much anguish. But, Marian, within a father’s heart the 
daughter is so sacredly cherished, so securely intrenched, 
that her heart-agony must, to some extent, be his own.” 

He had clasped her in his arms, and she felt his warm, 
affectionate presence; but eager to conceal the tears 
which she could not restrain, she sprang from his lov- 
ing grasp, and saying, with an effort at gayety, “ I will 
return to-night, for your sake, papa, with a lighter and 
happier heart,” sped rapidly on. 

It could have been only the wonderful gift of the alL 
seeing God — his unfathomable pity — which, while wishing 
to pour a dewy balm, an untold healing for the many suf- 
ferings that his prescience comprehended, prompted the 
surrender unto man of a temple so grandly beautiful, so 
sublime in its echoes and reechoes as nature’s. Within 
this limitless domain of his power, Marian felt a soothing 
influence, and while imbibing its quietude and calm, rea- 
lized the debt of gratitude which a world could never li- 
quidate. Breathings of Festus fell softly from her lips. 


184 MAIDEE ’ THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 

“ * This marble-walled immensity, o’er roofed 

With pendent mountains glittering, awes my soul. 

God’s hand hath scooped the hollow of this world ; 

Yea, none but his could ; and I stand in it 
Like a forgotten atom of the light 

Some star hath lost upon its lightning flight.’ 

“ Macra, let us rest here upon this lowly hillock for a 
short time — it is yet early ; and, while impressed with our 
own insignificance, appreciate the greatness of our Crea- 
tor.” 

It was a temple, within which she felt more would arise 
to aid in sustaining her new-formed plans — more arise, to 
banish a memory, in which gleamed the graves of past 
wishes and expectations — more arise, to cancel human pas- 
sions, than aught else beside. The spot chosen was near 
a stream of water, whose quiet flow aided in the great 
handiwork of lulling and healing the bruised heart. 

Near by, but on the glittering sand over which the 
cooling waters were constantly casting their ripples, frolick- 
ed a poor, deformed child, but with a countenance so in- 
expressibly beautiful that the disproportionateness of 
shape was soon lost sight of. Marian found her own 
thoughts of self dissipated while watching the gayety of 
this little being, which not even this stamp of early blight 
could sadden. The child’s mother seemed bending near, 
as if eager to catch the drops of brightness as they fell 
from her coral lips. The little one was very busy in pur- 
suit of the sparkling bubbles, which the motion of her 
tiny hands was constantly producing. 

Marian’s approach had been unnoticed by the two, and 
she hailed it as an omen of still greater enjoyment for the 
evening, fancying the little one, in her child-like amuse- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


i8 5 

ments, one of nature’s miniature creations, which could, 
by its witchery of movement, enhance still more thelov- 
liness of a scene, which had wooed her into a momentary 
repose. But, while pondering upon the unrivaled pic- 
ture, her glance at one moment resting near the stream, 
at another, spanning the sublime canopy above, a low, 
piercing voice arrested her attention. 

With a sudden bound Macra plunged into the water, 
and grasped clothing which Marian readily recognized as 
that of the unfortunate semblance of childhood which had 
so interested her. The mother groped about from spot 
to spot, as if, in her despair, she had lost thought and ac- 
tion. Marian, ever composed in times of danger, de- 
scended as rapidly as she could the curve of the bank 
which had concealed her from view, thereby reaching the 
water just in time to relieve the noble dog of his heavy 
burden. 

“ Thanks, thanks, kind Macra! You have done well, 
and your mistress must reward you for your faithful- 
ness.” 

“ Is she safe ?” 

It was like the mournful echo from the spirit world. 
Marian turned and beheld the trembling mother, every 
movement denoting an uncertainty which could only ac- 
company the blind. 

“ O my God ! is she safe ?” 

“ Yes, yes, be calm ; the little one has been sadly 
frightened, but we can soon restore her.” 

The hand of the stranger grasped Marian with an in- 
tensity which vibrated through her whole frame. 

“ Restore her to my arms,” the lips quiveringly faltered, 


1 86 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / OiZ, 


“ and God shall bless you ; he only could have brought 
you to our assistance. He knew my irrevocable darkness, 
and his holy love did not desert me. Oh ! how kind, how 
great is this Being who has brought us into existence.” 

Marian was bending with earnestness over the child, 
chafing her delicately-formed hands, and recalling her 
back to life. But the words of the blind mother were 
burning deeply ; for she felt, oh ! how truly, that she need- 
ed the rebuke : she, from whose sight nature and art had 
never been withdrawn ; with whom the most delicate me- 
chanism of bud or bloom had never known concealment; 
from whom the loved lineaments of parents and friends had 
never been clouded by a disk of impenetrable gloom ; and 
yet she had shuddered, wept, and murmured, while this 
stranger, to whom the beauty of summer, or the cheer- 
less, leafless winter, were equally as dear ; whose sightless 
eyes, it may be, had never gazed upon the form so fright- 
fully marred, but whose countenance of matchless, trans- 
scendent loveliness, would have warmed and satisfied the 
mother’s cravings ; from whom vernal beauties and rose- 
tinted gleams were forever withdrawn — could clasp her 
hands with unfeigned thankfulness, and thank her Maker 
for his continued mercies. Strange, incomprehensible 
mystery ! 

“You are right, dear mamma,” Marian quietly murmur- 
ed. “ It is only while mitigating the sufferings of others 
that we can realize our own happy state, and kiss the bene- 
ficent hand which has gently showered it upon us.” 

The child opened her eyes, and looked languidly around, 
and, upon seeing her mother, a gleam of joy passed, me- 
teor-like, over the pale face. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 187 

“ Mamma, mamma, I went too far for one of the bub- 
bles, and fell in ; but see, I am not hurt.” 

The mother’s hand passed gently over the features of 
her child. 

“ Thank God and the stranger, Netta, that I have not 
been made childless.” 

“ O mamma ! believe me, I do, I do.” 

“Your child speaks hardly like one of her years,” said 
Marian. 

“ Perhaps she is older than you imagine ; and then, 
too, the care that has been imposed upon her, renders her 
prematurely old. Her father thinks her different from 
most children ; and, indeed, she must be unlike, for she is 
far more loving.” 

Netta smiled again, as if gratified at her mother’s 
praises ; then turning to Marian, said softly, as if she were 
loth to have her mother hear, 

“ You see, we are all in all to each other. My mother 
is blind, and I — but it is not necessary to tell you what I am. 
Father, mother, and myself live alone ; we never mingle 
with strangers, for he says that others, more fortunate, 
might wound my feelings. But still we are so happy ! 
Mother and I, during the day, after every thing is carefully 
arranged, wander out into the woods, to listen to the 
wild chirping of the birds, or spend hours here, watching 
the little fish, and playing in this clear, crystal stream ; and 
mamma seems very happy while listening to my idle talk. 
Then in the evening, papa, relieved from his daily toil, ren- 
ders us so joyous by reading and talking to us !” 

“ You can not have lived here long?” 

“ Only for a few months. Papa found business in the 


188 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 

village, and bought a home out here, because we preferred 
living in the country.” 

Netta then pointed to a little dwelling near by as their 
place of abode. This was almost concealed by the dense 
growth, and Marian had thought it long uninhabited. 

“ Netta, what is your father’s name ?” 

“ Wilson.” 

“Ah! I have heard papa speak of him. Mrs. Wilson, 
we must become better friends. Mamma and myself will 
come over some afternoon. I wonder we had not known 
of your proximity before.” 

“It is owing to the secluded life we lead, I presume; 
for we never seek society.” 

“ But you will come ?” said Netta, eagerly. 

“ O yes ! I certainly shall, and bring one with me, Netta, 
who in her planning for the happiness of others will not 
forget you, but make your life far more pleasant, I fancy.” 

“ Poor Netta has a lonely time,” said Mrs. Wilson ; 
“ and I have often wished her task were less burden 
some.” 

“ Oh ! do not speak so, mamma. It is one of which I 
will never, never weary.” 

“ Never, Netta? I have feared at times you might.” 

“ Mamma does not know of my affliction, and can not 
imagine why I am so content with our recluse life,” she 
said, almost in a whisper. 

When Marian parted from them, she felt indeed that 
the Marah of her life had again been sweetened — sweet- 
ened, too, by those for whom at first she had only felt 
compassion. The blind and the dwarfed child were truly 
her teachers. Silently she mused on the benefits to be 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


189 


conferred upon the uncomplaining solitary. “ What hap- 
piness it would be to devise some new attire which, in 
concealing the frightful shape, might allow her to mingle 
more freely, without a fear of ridicule, with companion- 
able children ! Yes, this must be. I shall discuss the 
point with mamma,” exclaimed Marian ; “ and perhaps 
the combination of thought may produce something which 
will prove acceptable to Netta.” 

Her step was lighter and happier than it had been for 
weeks. Marian was fast blotting out her own grief, while 
rearing charming images for others. 

The cemetery, which had caught the sparkling light of 
the sun, and was decked in a light of unutterable beauty, 
with its costly monuments and humble, heart-speaking 
slabs, now arose before her. 

“ Dear Gertrude, silent sleeper, how peaceful and quiet 
art thou, resting in this village graveyard ; torn so sudden- 
ly from hearts that loved thee, yet thou in thy solitude 
are not forgotten.” 

She opened the iron gate, but stopped suddenly ; for, 
with his arms encircling the beautiful obelisk of her friend, 
and renewing in this lonely spot his past vows of unwa- 
vering devotion, stood Mr. Ronald, the inconsolable 
mourner. There was a quiet solemnity in this continued 
protestation of love so rare in man, and Marian, with her 
own heart aching afresh, closed the gate quietly and passed 
on to the village. She knew he would seek her home on 
his return to the city ; but she could not intrude upon him 
at a moment when he was communing with his dead. 
How glad she felt that the spot had been so carefully 
tended ; that odorous flowers had smiled sweetly where 


MAIBEE , THE ALCHEMIST. 


190 

the iron key unlocked the lovely entrance to Gertrude’s 
rest ; that no poisonous weeds arose to embitter and teach 
the lone man that his dead had been sacred, alone to 
him. 

The postmaster smiled mischievously, as he placed seve- 
ral letters of a dubious character in her hands. She glanced 
eagerly over the number, but the handwriting so long ex- 
pected was still missing, and, with a half-suppressed sigh, 
she turned again homeward. 

Letters of all descriptions were before her ; some gay, 
some solemn, many replete with love’s mementoes, and 
whose earnestness she could not doubt. Would that 
they had not come ! The infliction of pain she involun- 
tarily shrank from, and her own feelings whispered that 
her replies must be disappointments. One heart only was 
coveted. Was it still hers ? Alas ! the future, only, could 
decide. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“ O Mrs. Lee ! I can not, I can not leave you. My 
whole nature recoils from it.” 

44 Maggie, among my cherished memories dwells a face 
which still haunts by its delicious beauty. Ah ! the ange- 
lic purity of the countenance can never be erased. It is 
one of those countenances so rare on earth which thought 
constantly whispers has been surely borrowed from a hea- 
venly home. It was my privilege to call her friend. I 
can see her now as she bent fondly over her first-born, 
feverish from gloomy presentiments which not even the 
gentle cooing of the innocent being by her side could 
quell. Sad forebodings of an early death with singular 
tenacity consumed each glimpse of joy as it struggled 
wistfully for preeminence, and the thought that her child 
would pass through the world a stranger to all loving 
benedictions was maddening. 

“ 4 Oh !’ she exclaimed, 4 Maidee, when I look upon the 
many ignoble faces of earth, the thousand soulless mo- 
thers who can never realize the responsibility of their 
positions — mothers who daily pass before my vision, 
frittering away in folly and fashion lives which are des- 
tined for woe or bliss in eternity, I bow cringingly before 
my Maker, and plead for life — plead that this precious 
soul which he has surrendered into my keeping, her 


192 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


holy childhood may never sink in the slough of sin and 
guilt from an unholy association with such beings.’ , 

“ * He who hath most of heart 
Knows most of sorrow/ 

“ It was but the natural prayer of a thinking mother; and 
I could not wonder that she shrank so shudderingly from 
death. But with me her words left an impress, and from 
that moment to this, the motherless have ever been re- 
garded as sacred cares which woman should fondly rear 
and caress ; therefore come to me, Maggie, at any time, 
unshrinkingly, with every trouble, for I will not cast you 
off, nor will I deem you annoying. 

“ Think not, if we consider it your duty to listen to your 
father in his repeated solicitations that you should live with 
him, that we imagine for one moment that a withdrawal 
of our love and tenderness is necessary. On the contra- 
ry, your little cottage is so near that we can see and ad- 
vise with you daily. Mr. Lee built this house for your 
father, to be paid for at his leisure, which I am confident 
his profession will soon enable him to do, and then, Mag- 
gie, how happy you will be as mistress of this snug room !” 

Maggie gazed with a bewildered look around the apart- 
ment, which spoke so plainly of the loving hands which 
had arranged it. The neat bed with its snowy covering, 
the windows concealed by a drapery of equal whiteness 
— every thing, in fact, betokening an air of comfort and 
care which betrayed the planners, who, while rigidly study- 
ing Maggie’s convenience, did not lose sight of what could 
minister to her taste for the beautiful. There was a book- 
case filled with choice volumes, tendered by Mr. Lee, 
with the hope accompanying the gift that at some future 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


193 


time her more matured mind would derive a signal bene- 
fit from it 

A neat writing-desk, placed there by Marian, with a lov- 
ing note within, traced by the same kind hand, where 
lingered words of encouragement and cheer, was left for 
Maggie — and whom they would gladly have retained, were 
it not for the paramount claim upon her time and atten- 
tion — and they drew many tears at the moment of its 
perusal from poor Maggie. 

But Mrs. Lee, dear, kind, thoughtful Mrs. Lee, with her 
warm, loving heart, ever in sympathy with the orphan, 
where could her eye rest that some little memento did not 
peer cheerfully up, telling the tried spirit that, though the 
sacrifice would be so great, still she was not alone ? Mrs. 
Lee’s soft hand caressed by its gentle touch the anxious 
brow. 

“ Brighten up, Maggie !” she said gayly, “ here in these 
woodlands, amid such pageantry of beauty as nature 
paints, you can not be gloomy. It will prove a glowing 
carnival, fringed round with crimson flowers, from which 
our Maggie can daily sip happiness.” 

The thought was a happy one ; for nature, with its gems 
of unvarnished hues, was truly to Maggie an unwearying 
source of delight. Her father entered as the darkening 
cloud was passing from her countenance, and pressing her 
closely to him, he said with much emotion, 

“ Maggie, it shall be my greatest aim in life now to 
make you happy. Your mother’s love I forfeited by my 
weakness and folly ; I lost her respect when I lost sight 
of my manhood so far as to violate and cancel the solemn 
vows of reformation, which I had poured into her believ- 


194 MAID EE, THE AL CHEMIST } OR , 

ing ear. Woman must, with her trusting nature, be able 
to regard as her superior, at least in firmness and strength 
of character, the man whom she calls husband/ If in- 
capacitated to do this, there is necessarily an estrange- 
ment, even while from a sense of duty she still clings to 
the fallen.” 

There was a sacredness to Mrs. Lee in this communion 
between father and child — a holiness in touching upon 
their dead, to which she instinctively felt her presence 
might prove an intrusion, and she stole softly from the 
room, leaving the two, within whose hearts new and sweet- 
er emotions were springing up, alone. 

With eyes glistening with pleasure, Marian held a tasti- 
ly arranged garment up upon her mother’s entrance, and 
asked eagerly, 

“ What do you think of my work, mamma ?” 

“It is truly beautiful, Marian. Now Netta can join 
your class at Sunday-school, without feeling that her de- 
formity will be so greatly noticed.” 

“ I have thought of that, and indeed it has been the 
one great incentive in hastening the task. Poor child, 
she will be so much happier while mingling with loving 
and refined children of her own age, such as Helen Lo- 
beaux, mamma; and I am confident they will soon be 
good friends.” 

“ Yes, gentle little Helen will know how to feel and 
sympathize with so great an affliction.” 

“ But what say you, mamma, to visiting Mrs. Wilson ? 
I am so delighted with my work, that I long to see if the 
feeling of pleasure will be equally shared by Netta. Yet 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


*95 

I must not forget Maggie in my new labors. Does she 
seem reconciled to the change ?” 

“ Not entirely. Still I hope she will soon become so. 
Your father desired, if I mistake not, to join us in our 
visit to the cottage. Do you know where he is, 
Marian ?” 

“ Here, to speak for himself,” said Mr. Lee. And with 
one of his genial, heart-speaking smiles, he came quickly 
forward, bearing an open letter in his hand. 

“ A letter which has brought good news, my husband, 
is it not so ?” 

“ Yes, yes, Maidee. It is from Hey wood; and I felt 
while perusing it that we were once more as of old, with- 
out one shade to darken our love.” 

“ Dear Mr. Heywood ! O papa ! have you really re- 
ceived tidings from one who has so long voluntarily os- 
tracized himself from the presence of those who loved 
him so devotedly ?” 

“ And what does he say, Leslie ?” were the eager, ques- 
tioning words of Mrs. Lee. 

“ Stop, stop, not too many at once. Verily, I believe 
you both are as much delighted as I am. And must I not 
be a little jealous, Maidee, at that look of joy ?” laughed 
Mr. Lee mischievously. 

“ Papa, papa, how cruel to answer our anxious inqui- 
ries in such a manner !” 

“ Yes, Leslie, do proceed, or Marian and myself will 
soon be aware of the contents without your permission.” 

“Well, well, an exordium of such length must be par- 
donable, as mother and daughter would have been quite 
as reprehensible under similar circumstances.” 


196 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / Oi?, 

“ Indeed, papa, you are mistaken ; woman is far more 
considerate.” 

“ Before I commence reading, let me assure you of one 
thing — that as usual you may expect to find Hey wood’s 
various compartments, where nestle his quotations, his 
sentiments and his humor.” 

“ Papa, I protest against such criticisms. Are we never 
to judge for ourselves ?” 

“ Never, until you learn to control your unruly member, 
daughter.” 

“ O mamma !” sighed Marian weariedly, “ will you 
not act as umpire in this matter, and urge papa on ?” 

Mr. and Mrs. Lee laughed heartily over Marian’s tone 
of despair. 

“ Tell your father, Marian, he should not trifle with an 
eager, enthusiastic temperament, when his own bears 
kindred to it.” 

Forgive me, daughter. I am wrong, I admit; but, in- 
deed, your love for Heywood is so pleasing to my feel- 
ings, that such demonstrations to me are necessary to sa- 
tisfy the earnest cravings of my nature for a friend so 
loved ; have you never ?” 

" Indeed, Leslie, I protest.” 

“ And you too in rebellion, Maidee ? Then, truly, I 
must read it.” 

“ Are you prepared, dear Leslie, for a morceau of foreign 
travel, or may I flatter myself that the verbiage of your 
friend, when pertaining strictly to his own welfare, will 
prove the one theme of greatest interest ? 

“ Alas ! a self-imposed exile so long from the land of 
kindred and loved, resurrected memories have assumed 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


*97 


their sway to-night, and are bidding me use the ties of 
consanguinity and friendship. Little wavelets from home 
are gushing over my heart, subduing its obdurateness, 
softening and calming its bitterness, and speaking in its 
distant delicious ocean-babble of a friend still dear ; one 
who, its low, musical tone murmurs, has never willingly 
wronged in thought or deed, but who had alone placed 
his heart, before the first impulses, the soul-stirring en- 
thusiasms of youth were singed by baleful surroundings, 
upon the only being whom my long latent affections had 
ever madly, wildly loved. Nor even in this nadir hour 
can I blame him, or deem him culpable for an act in 
which my own seared feelings were equally guilty. 

“ And now I fancy, as these words are fondly read, your 
dear group in an eager questioning tone repeating the 
lines, 

“ ‘ But loved he never after ? 

Comes there none to roll the stone from his sepulchral heart, 
And sit in it an angel ?’ 

“ None, Leslie, none ; and yet to-night I am longing for 
you and yours ; and if you will not come to me in this soul- 
enrapturing land, then must I listen to the silent pleadings 
of emotions long dormant, and turn back to the dearest 
spot to me of earth. 

“ I have schooled myself to love Maidee Chaworth as 
the wife of one who has been my boon companion in 
childhood and early manhood, and to whom I still cling 
in the meridian of life. Feeling thus, knowing and fully 
appreciating the stamp of genuine worth and nobleness, 
which first marked you as my friend, we need not then 
fear 


198 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


“ * The green-eyed monster which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on 

but let us both earnestly long for some coiitretemps , which, 
though at first it may jeopardize and disintegrate noble 
resolutions, will end in the soothing of a wearied, care- 
worn traveler. 

“ And yet, and yet in our first meeting, in the dreamy 
hour of noontide, when we imagine not a leaf of discord 
stirring, but in its place, 

“ ‘The thoughts of other joyous days, 

Perchance, if such may be, of happier times, 

Are falling gently on the memory, 

Like autumn leaves distained with dusky gold, 

Yet softly as a snow-flake ; and the smile 
Of kindliness, like them, is beaming on me 

you will, Leslie, 

“ ‘ pardon, if I lose myself, nor know 
Whether I be with heaven or thee. * 

“ I am writing to-night from Venice, the magnificent, 
the unique metropolis, afloat on the sea, 

“ * With glistening spires and pinnacles adorned. * 

u Mrs. Jamieson said, c that Venice always reminded her 
of a beautiful courtesan, repenting in sackcloth and ashes, 
and mingling the ragged remnants of her former splendor 
with the emblem of present misery, degradation, and 
mourning. , But with me, how different ! Every thing is 
dazzlingly beautiful. I dwell, as it were, on the margin of 
a glorious past — from whose purlieus alone I obtain 
glimpses of grandeur and splendor, allowing naught of a 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


199 


meretricious nature to arise and disgust. As my gondola 
glides slowly through the serpentine windings of the ca- 
nals, my inimitable dreamings soon weave a gorgeous 
canopy, fringed with speaking pictures, whose figures be- 
come animated, living forms, breathing in the low melo- 
dies of Italy such songs of peace and beauty as the 
happy, thoughtless, noble, or gay gondolier once chanted, 
when their hearts were teeming with love for St. Mark's. 

“ Oh ! it is indeed a luxury, in which your imaginative 
temperament can readily sympathize, Leslie. When, wearied 
with the Piazza di San Marco, its charming arcades, its 
shops and cafes, with their great varieties, have ceased 
to interest; when the magnificent churches of Venice, 
with their dazzling columns of vcrd-antique , bronze and 
alabaster, no longer excite your curiosity ; when the glo- 
rious paintings and frescoes of such artists as Titian, Paul 
Verronese, and Tintoretto, have been again and again 
feasted upon ; to float quietly upon the waters of the 
grand canal, and under the Rialto, a thing of beauty, as 
its white marble shimmers in the noonday sun, indulging 
in delicious reveries — reveries in which the bucentaur, ar- 
ranged in its rich paraphernalia, stands proudly conspi- 
cuous ; where fancy soon placed the doge and senators 
of old, treading majestically upon its deck, feeling, while 
performing the customs and ceremonies of their coun- 
try, that an unsurpassed bravery entitled them to those 
joyful festas, in which even the alien united. 

“Ah! even now, those of us who have not been 
dwarfed in feeling, who have not unfortunately inherited 
phlegmatic temperaments, can enter wildly and enthusi- 
astically into their gala days. What matters it if, at 


200 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


times, our dreamings prove only Icarian flights ? Have 
we not clapped our hands gleefully, and been for a mo- 
ment eager participants in a delirious joy, in which icicled 
natures could never revel ? 

“ But I would not weary you with such rhapsodies, 
Leslie. On the contrary, should urge your charming cir- 
cle to join me as speedily as possible, when I can pledge 
them rare and exquisite beauties, in whose admiration 
my delineatory efforts would be powerless : consequently 
I shall not attempt them. 

“ Oh ! I would behold my little pet — with her fresh, un- 
tarnished nature, with her high appreciation of all that is 
beautiful, with her intense love for the intellectual — amid 
the grandeurs of the old world. You have not spoiled 
her, Leslie ? But why do I ask you ? That would be 
impossible ! And I know Maidee and yourself will bring 
her to me, the same sparkling, animated little creature 
which once charmed my idle moments. 

“ ‘ O child of beauty ! still thou art 
A sunbeam in this lonely heart.’ 

And Maidee, Leslie, has been faithful to your motherless 
one ? I knew she would be ; and, even in my sufferings, 
felt truly an emotion of thankfulness that one so noble, 
so unselfish, would be the guide and counselor of Marian’s 
youth.” 

“ O mamma, mamma !” she exclaimed amid her tears, 
“ could he only know what you have been to me, the sa- 
crifice made would be no longer regretted.” 

“ My darling,” said Mrs. Le£— and her voice quivered 
— “ you are bestowing more praise upon your mother, than 


I 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 201 

is her due. You forget that it is the noble child, general- 
ly, which enchains the stepmother in the path of duty.” 

Mr. Lee arose and walked hurriedly to the window. 
He felt that he could not continue the letter now, without 
too great a betrayal to wife and child of his own heartfelt 
emotions. 

Ah ! what cause did he not have for gratitude ! What 
love welled up within his overflowing heart as he thought 
of the self-imposed exile who had given up friends, kin- 
dred, and home that he might be happy. 

He thought of Maidee, the noble, self-sacrificing wife — 
what would his home have been without her ? What 
would his child have been ? Ah ! had she not with 
genuine, womanly devotion and tenderness studied alone 
the interest of that child in her daily life ? Had she not 
completely monopolized the care, shielding him from all 
anxiety as to the future of one so cherished ? 

A flood of light — a soft, balmy air — passed quietly in, 
bathing his brow with its deliciousness, every thing be- 
speaking happiness for him ; while the wanderer, still iso- 
lated, sought it only amid memories. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


“ * Alone she dwelt, solitary as a star 
Unsphered. ’ 

And such, my brother, appears to me your model — your 
paragon — the one you would have imitated.” 

“‘Yet she knew no scorn/ Morelia, you should 
complete the quotation ; otherwise you do the party great 
injustice. It is true that even now you have altered the 
lines slightly, as well as myself, to suit your purposes. 

“ 1 For me, I’d rather live 
With this weak human heart and yearning blood, 

Lonely as God, than mate with barren souls ; 

More brave, more beautiful, than myself must be 
The man whom truly I can call my friend. 

He must be an inspirer, who can draw 
To higher heights of being, and ever stand 
O’er me in unmatched beauty like the moon. 

Soon as he fail in this, the crest and crown 
Of noble friendship, he is naught to me.’ 

And such, too, may be the feelings and sentiment of Ma- 
rian. How could you expect a spirit so deeply imbued 
with high-toned principles — one with such strong poetical 
genius, whose little world is an ideal of beauty, to mingle 
with the common mass, who are oftentimes idealess? 
whose obscurity, if not expressed in the low, vulgar jargon 
of the day, betrays itself in each look and act of their life, 


MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST. 


203 


in which association she could find nothing that would 
not prove hideously repulsive. And, Morelia, would that 
I could say the same of you ! Marian would shrink shud- 
deringly from an intimacy with such a character as Eloise ; 
yet, where duty calls, you must yourself admit she is never 
negligent.’' 

The words were spoken in a painfully mournful manner. 
The cheek of Morelia blanched, then crimsoned with in- 
dignation. 

“ Marian certainly possesses a noble vindicator. Would 
that I were as fortunate ! But her encyclopedic learning 
has not blinded me ; and it would be a fairer dialectician 
by far who could convince me of that immaculateness, of 
which you unceasingly prate.” 

“ My sister, your infancy, as I might truly say, was 
cradled in my arms. Our mother, in dying, gave you to 
me — to me, the poor, trembling, shrinking boy who stood 
aghast before the pallid hue of death ; whose heart seem- 
ed ready to break at a separation which he in his weakness 
could not avert ; and yet, even in that hour, I lived years. 
Manhood seemed forced upon me ; and I took my little 
charge within my arms, pressing it closely to the warm heart 
that alone I felt must beat for you in the future ; and 
smiling, even in my misery, as you returned the caress* 
How my poor, bruised, suffering heart softened in its re- 
bellion, as the winning ways of childhood, one by one, 
unfolded! How rapidly murmurs were replaced by 
thoughts of thankfulness, as each feature bore the unmis- 
takable similitude to those of our mother; and, until re- 
cently, I had hoped a semblance too, in the virtues still so 
fondly remembered. 


204 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 


“ Those were happy years, Morelia — years in which I 
deemed my sister’s love the sine qua non to pleasure. 
You know not, Morelia, how strenuously I avoided unholy 
associations, fearing in my zeal a stigma might be cast 
upon your name. 

“ I knew that any overtures of affection you might 
make toward our laborious, care-worn father would be 
repulsed ; consequently in my ardor I zealously guarded 
each tender bud of feeling from blight by keeping you 
from his presence; for he, toiling for wealth, had forgotten 
us both. Alas ! I did not stop at any task, no matter how 
onerous, that might conduce to your happiness. I endea- 
vored to discharge my duty as a brother should ; but this 
envelope, dropped by you, Morelia, causes me to fear that 
in some point, I have signally failed. Morelia, Morelia ! 
how did you obtain it ? Why is it in your possession ?” 

There were evidences of relenting. Her brother’s mani- 
fest feeling had completely banished the boldened man- 
ner with which she had endeavored to cloak her wicked- 
ness; yet how could she confess her duplicity ? Would 
he not reveal it, and that, too, to a rival whom she detested ? 

“ Why should you suspect me of wrong ?” she said, 
with a strong effort at composure. “ I am sure I could 
have received such a trifle from Marian at any time.” 

“ No, your reply will not satisfy. Your intimacy does 
not justify you in such an assertion ; but, on the contrary, 
I know that for months you have studiously avoided her; 
for what reason I know not. Morelia, perhaps even now 
our mother is bending near, waiting to pronounce a bene- 
diction. Let it not be a curse !” 

She cowered beneath his glance ; it was so stern, and 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


205 


yet, too, so full of pity. Passion, grief, and terror were 
strongly depicted, marring the beauty he had so often 
praised. Could the holy, pure spirit his devotion so 
taught her to love, curse ? No, that was impossible ! It 
was but the idea of an excited brain. Her brother would 
not have framed his language so harshly in a calmer mo- 
ment ; but ah ! could they not weep ? And, too, had he 
not spoken truly ? had her life not been, until within the 
past few dreary months, a perpetual summer, which his 
warm, loving nature had so readily gladdened ? To pour 
forth her troubles and cares now, might it not relieve her 
of untold pangs in the future ? Might they not prove 
transient clouds which required only his willing hand, his 
genial love as dispellers ? 

Spectres of evil stalked defiantly at her side ; but might 
she not bid them avaunt, and shield herself within her 
brother’s strong, protecting arms onGe more ? Even the 
contemplation for a moment was sweet ; for she had so 
suffered in departing from duty’s path. 

She peered wistfully around, but each little bush and 
shrub seemed stilled — not even a breath to disturb them ; 
and yet the woods were not voiceless. Voices, unmis- 
takable voices, were approaching, disembogued, as it were, 
from the very earth, which the poor writhing, sensitive, 
reawakened girl, wished earnestly might open its dark 
bosom to receive her, in the more ennobling thoughts 
which were now wooing her onward were dismembered. 
One voice — oh ! might she not be mistaken ? — whose echo 
caused the passions, temporarily quelled, to leap wildly 
back, and with a cry in which hatred and sorrow were 
equally blended, she sprang forward in her homeward path, 


20 6 


MAUDE E^ THE ALCHEMIST. 


forgetful of the wronged, deeply- wronged brother ; while 
he, in the midst of a tortuous present, struggled fearfully. 
He seemed drifting upon a wildered sea whose strand 
was desolate. 

He cast a tearful eye backward; for with the future, he 
dare not cope. Thought paused ! Rimmed with busy, 
active agents, a beauteous picture seemed instantly dis- 
entombed ; a picture strangely enticing, where feasted, in 
maddened revelry, unconscious of their God, a licentious, 
pleasure-loving court. Yet even there, amid those spark- 
ling gleams, amid bright and glittering jewels, were glean- 
ings rich in warnings; words of crushing import came 
forth, “ Mene , mene, tekel upharsin traced in glowing let- 
ters upon pearly walls, silencing the scoffer’s triumphant 
shout, causing the atheistical mocker of Israel’s God, to 
pale. 

The ashes of cherished plans lay at his feet ; but the as- 
cending fumes from those ruined hopes still refused, utterly 
refused, with their vapory cloudlets, to blot out the fearful 
handwriting; and “Tekel” — thou art weighed in the bal- 
ance and art found wanting — still glared and shone, far 
too brightly, upon the wearied, overtaxed eye. 

“ O God !” he gasped, “ must this indeed be Morelia’s 
fate and mine! Alas my sister! have I been irretriev- 
ably unfaithful to my trust ? 

“ * God ! what a light has passed away from earth 
Since my last look ! How hideous this night ! 

How beautiful the yesterday that stood 
Over me like a rainbow ! I am alone. 

The past is past. I see the future stretch 
All dark and barren as a rainy sea.’ ” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ ‘ Let him go 

Alone upon his waste and dreary road ; 

He will return to the old faith he learned 
Beside his mother’s knee. That memory 
That haunts, as the sweet and gracious moon 
Haunts the poor outcast earth, will lead him back 
To happiness and God.’ 

“ They told me this ; vainly did I attempt to believe it. 
I repeated it mournfully by the silver brooklet, hoping its 
onward stream might bear the burden of my thoughts far, 
far out into a distant channel whose little murmur, sad 
and gloomy though it be, would rise and fall quiveringly 
to his feet ; but, alas ! alas ! it plunged along into a black- 
ened maelstrom, which refused to yield it up at the mute 
appeal.” 

“ But you forget, Eloise, that 

“ ‘ Love is a sanctifier ; ’tis a moon 

Turning each dusk to silver; a pure light, 

Redeemer of all errors.’ ” 

" Sayest so ? It is false ! Ah ! I had sworn to blister 
and blast his feelings as he had mercilessly blasted mine. 
Spain ! land of beauty and of song, every portion of 
whose surface I still sacredly revere ; amid whose chestnut 
groves the wild, joyous laughter of my innocent childhood 


208 MAIDEE , THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 

gushed forth ; by the side of whose dates and bananas I 
frolicked, pausing not even in my glee to pluck the golden 
fruit as its seductive charms peeped forth, unconscious, 
utterly unconscious, of the ghastly future whose prestige 
alone dazzled my artless, guileless vision. 

“ Spain ! my idolized country ! thou wert deserted ; thy 
beauteous plateaus, smiling valleys, and enchanting moun- 
tains, for the land of the stranger. I thought to entice 
him back, to bask once more in the sunshine of his love. 
Hopes futile, barren, long since dissolved to mingle with 
the ‘ ethereal messengers * of evil. But hist ! They were 
borne back again and again, and baleful sounds came 
with them, claiming admittance into the lacerated pre- 
cincts, from which my unnerved, blighted being had not 
the power to exclude them.” 

She tossed her arms up wildly. A maniacal stare for a 
moment rested upon the haggard features, and then gra- 
dually softened into an impassioned, fervid, soul-lit gleam. 
A sweet lyric burst forth from the slightly-parted lips, en- 
trancing by its beauty even the woodland dwellers. 

Mr. Espinosa, in his ecstasy, gazed until his eyes grew 
dim ; until each pulsation madly throbbed in unison with 
that of the slighted and deeply interesting sibyl. 

It was the same old story, the one which had palsied 
so many heart-strings ; and he inwardly loathed the man, 
even though he were his own father, who had thus wrecked 
the happiness of one so fitted to adorn society. She was 
no longer to him the seeress of the village ; the temptress 
who, by her piteous tales of necromancy, had hurried on 
his sister’s downfall ; the one whom he in his misery came 
to upbraid, but a poor shipwrecked, suffering woman — one 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


209 


demanding not only his sympathy, but, by her shattered 
hopes, his soothing. 

The songstress ceased. Vainly he waited, hoping that 
some sound would issue from her lips ; but poor Eloise 
seemed luxuriating in a world of matchless beauty — per- 
haps in the sunny land she so loved, beneath the olive, 
pressing its cherished emblem, peace, within her bleeding 
bosom. 

“ Eloise !” 

“ Ha ! who speaks ? ’Tis the voice of the dead I hear. 
I never knew but one like it, so full of sweet compassion,” 
and she turned her undimmed eyes upon him. “ Yes, 
yet, I remember, but in tears. Ah ! thou art thy mother’s 
own child, thy holy, incorruptible mother, and came to 
upbraid, to speak to me of my perfidy to your sister? 
But alas ! I did not mean it as such ; for thy mother’s sake 
it should have been different. I meant by my feeble 
powers to aid and contribute to her happiness.” 

“ But O Eloise ! in your mistaken kindness you have 
caused, perhaps to perish, the noblest principles of fallen 
humanity.” 

The head of Eloise drooped gloomily. 

“ Perhaps I have,” she murmured in a weary tone ; “ but 
believe me, I did not mean it. I could have seen thy fa- 
ther’s children wither beneath contempt, and the woods 
would have rung with my shouts of triumph ; but thy 
mother saved me, and when she died I vowed forever to 
renounce all ideas of revenge. Your father, Midas-like, 
has prayed that all he touches, may turn to gold. His 
cravings are about to be realized; but let him beware 
lest the golden sand with which he so insanely dallies 


210 


MATDEE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


prove tne quicksand which is to ingulf and destroy. And 
now go, for I would be alone.” 

“ But, Eloise, tell me — oh ! you dare not refuse to un- 
fold the plottings of the past months — the dark designs 
in which my sister has become entangled.” 

“ Yes, I have said it, and I will not retract. Let 
your sister make the disclosure, if she will ; I can not 
betray her. And now farewell; but remember my so- 
lemn assertion. I did not mean to wrong thee or thine. 
It is the same that you will hear when the startling 
melody of Israfeel’s voice shall fall upon our trembling 
ear on the resurrection morn, when the trumpet blast 
must reawaken us all into life.” 

Forgotten now the malfeasance which had so grieved 
and humiliated his own pride and affections. The mali- 
son had died upon her lips, as the low, wailing confession 
burst forth — she, the heart-broken one — and why should 
it not upon his ? 

He watched the once proudly erect form as it now 
passed slowly into the cottage, bent and writhing beneath 
the suffering which recollections, long pent up, long brave- 
ly wrestled with, had generated. 

He pondered sadly upoil the sinful life — a life which all 
whose opinions one so cultivated would have prized, must 
condemn ; a life which at best must have been isolated, 
repulsive, and so little in harmony with her better nature, 
and a sigh of pity escaped him. 

The face of his father — hardened, it is true, now, for it 
bore the miser’s unmistakable mask — a face which, from 
boyhood up, though he had never ardently loved, like that 
of his mother, yet still had by its classic form, command- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


21 1 


ed his admiration, arose before him ; but ah ! it was a Ja- 
nus face, devoid of beauty now, and a low groan, a vio- 
lent shudder, dismissed the hideous lineaments. 

The feeling man, in thought, turned sadly toward the 
one who, by her withdrawal, had refused his sympathy. 
Unkindness had alienated her from mankind. 

Touched, it is true, by the charity which had been 
tremblingly tendered her by the wayside ; by the soft mu- 
sic of a voice which had bade her “ Go and sin no more,” 
she had lingered, though not redeemed, within the sha- 
dowy foot-prints of a purer spirit, and felt soothed by the 
gentle censure of her sister woman. 

Did the holy influences which had so biased his own 
childhood nestle still around the humble cottage, and 
mayhap within it refusing fiercely the expulsion which de- 
mon spirits were so eager to effect? Ah! could it be? And 
if so, if around the fallen one mastering spirits still pursu- 
ed, through her entreaties, their daily labors of love, would 
they not cling to one over whom the dead in dying had 
so yearned ? How his troubled, aching heart reveled in 
such hopes ! 

The birds chirped so sweetly upon the cottage, trellised 
over with luxuriant vines ; the little insects were fluttering 
from leaf to leaf ; the little squirrels, gentled by the hand 
of the seeress, ran to his feet, with their soft eyes gazing 
pleadingly upward ; for the hour was approaching in which 
they daily received her loving care, and they were startled 
at even a moment’s neglect. 

The theatre of her daily life lay spead out before him ; 
but as its centre-piece arose a facsimile of the Egyptian 
statue Memnon. His mother had breathed life in it, and 


212 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


he feared not but that each brilliant sunrising, and each 
cold, gray, dusky one too, would find her still faithful, 
striking thrilling chords from the unseen harp, a diapason 
so sweet that always he fancied it the precursor of a no- 
bler life — such a life as fallen manhood had temporarily 
crushed, but into which nobler womanhood would again 
infuse loveliness. 


“ Sincerity, 

Thou first of virtues ! let no mortal leave 
Thy onward path.” 

One painful task still remains : Marian, his own Marian, 
was she indeed a sufferer like himself? Did her heart 
cling to the one who had so long absented himself, as he 
greatly feared, through his sister’s instrumentality ? Ab- 
sented himself though still loving, as he had done, this be- 
ing, whose image he could not expel. 

It had been torture to withdraw from the friendly greet- 
ings, the charming hospitality of Poplar Grove; it had 
been torture to deny himself the daily association with a 
being so worshiped ; but, in justice to his own affections, 
he felt that it must be done. Paul Mahon was a compe- 
titor with whom he dared not cope. His own penetration 
had again and again reiterated that he would not be suc- 
cessful ; but this long separation, what did it mean ? 
Might he not be mistaken in regard to his sister’s conduct ? 
She had given him no clue ; Eloise had not : suspicions, 
foul suspicions were like the hideous vampire laying open 
wounds, and slowly sucking his life-blood. Hope with its 
soft wings, silvered and glistening, tapped gently but plead- 
ingly for ingress. Its bewildering beauty could not be re- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


21 3 


sisted, and he plunged into a by-path which led to Poplar 
Grove. Two hours had passed, and still he lingered. 

“ It is as I feared; you love Paul Mahon. Marian, 
dear Marian, tell me that this is not so, and you lift a 
weight from my heart which has oppressed it for months. 
But I am not selfish in it ; your happiness alone is the ob- 
ject desired. 

“ ‘ Love, pure love, the last 

Of mortal things that nestles in the heart.’ 

0 Marian ! give me this, or I could not be satisfied.” 

“ The life of a coquette is very like that of a drunkard 
or an opium-eater, and its end is the same. The utter ex- 
tinction of all good, of cheerfulness, of generous feeling, 
and of self-respect.” Such were the thoughts of another, 
and her own feelings reechoed them. She would not, if 
she could, take the heart of this noble being, placing it 
within her pallid hands to toy with and then crush. But 
why, oh ! why could she not love him ? so magnanimous, 
so gifted ! Why must the startling “ No ” arise ? the 
vesper knell of long-cherished throbbings. 

“ Mr. Espinosa, 

“ * A man can brook 

A world’s contempt, when he has that within 
Which say he’s worthy.’ 

1 am not afraid that you will misconstrue my refusal ; it is 
not that I deem you unworthy ; it is not that I ever expect to 
meet one more noble; but simply, dear friend, that I am not 
the moulder, chiseler, or entire controller of my feelings. I 
do not know, in fact, that I shall ever marry ; but were I to 


214 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

marry, I must earnestly love, and such love as you demand 
I can not give you !” 

Never before had she seemed so beautiful to him — so in- 
tensely dear. He had asked her for pure love, telling her 
that nothing else would satisfy ; butoh ! how greatly had 
he been mistaken. The hand, without the heart, he 
pleaded for now. Affection so disinterested as his own 
would, he felt confident, produce its counterpart, and they 
might yet be happy ; but she shook her head mournfully 
and the coldly rigid features taught him that his doom was 
sealed. 

How sweet, how calm the hour when the great sun, 
sinking behind the hills which its glittering rays have kiss- 
ed, seems no longer visible ! When the russet hues, now 
golden, now ruddy, are madly chased by the flickering 
shadows — precursor of night’s mantle 

Alone and desolate in the vast solitude, with nature his 
only sympathizer, Mr. Espinosa raised his clasped hands, 
and looked sadly toward the humble home of the si- 
byl. 

“ Eloise, Eloise ! thou art not the only grief-tossed be- 
ing ; thy heart has been rudely shattered ; but above the 
ruin others are ready to be placed, quivering, sensitive 
from the fearful throes of expiring passion.” 

A fierce flame, as if in answer to his sad soliloquy, 
awakened the forest dwellers, emblazoning the dark, im- 
penetrable recesses. A fearful suspicion darted through 
his mind. Might it not be a maniacal act, and the poor 
unfortunate perish within the flames which her own hands 
had kindled ? He sprang wildly forward, 

“Eloise! Eloise!” 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


215 

He called fearfully, but the echoes alone gave back their 
ringing sounds. 

“ O Eloise ! let my hand save you.” 

He rushed within the crumbling dwelling, little realiz- 
ing his own danger ; but the rooms were deserted. Again 
and again he shouted her name. She answered not. 

The home it was impossible to save — her home — the 
poor forsaken one ; what intense agony must have insti- 
gated the dire act ! 

How dismal seemed the cry of the owlet ; how plaintive 
the low notes of the birdlings as they fluttered in their ter- 
ror around him ! The dog she had left, a lone sentinel, 
moaned and whined piteously. 

How his own heart ached ! Marian and sibyl both suf- 
ferers ; and father and sister, were they not cruelly guilty ? 
Wearied and dispirited, he sank down by a shrub, away 
from the scorching heat which his efforts to rescue Eloise 
had already caused him sensibly to feel. A small paper 
which lay concealed within the leaves of the shrub fell 
fluttering upon the ground. He seized it, and by the light 
from the cottage traced slowly his own name. It was, then, 
addressed to him. Perhaps the mystery might yet be un- 
raveled. The words were scarcely intelligible ; but, panting 
from delight and surprise, he deciphered greedily, 

“You gave me a tear; believe me, I bless you. Your 
mother gave one; she has been already blessed. 

u * I am determined to be good again. 

Again ? When was I otherwise than ill ? 

Does not sin pour from my soul; like dew from earth, 

And vaporing up before the face of God, 

Congregate there in clouds between heaven and me ? 

But there I am not so entirely forgotten as here; 


2l6 


MAIDEE y THE ALCHEMIST. 


There the sainted dead plead for the erring; and 
There your mother’s voice, hope whispers, is not silent.’ 

Fostered by her gentle hand in life, why should I not be 
after death ? 

“ Amid the ruins, it may be — for I am confident your 
deep feeling will force you to seek me once more — these 
lines will be read. If so, do not mourn over the wreck 
your father has made ; but remember alone that the lim- 
nings of one we both loved, her pictures of holiness and 
truth, have at last brought poor Eloise back in wisdom’s 
paths; have caused her to resolve that the eye of a pro- 
phetess shall no longer dupe the credulous, but that in a 
nobler life she will yet endeavor to accomplish the mis- 
sion destined by her Maker.” 

“ ‘ In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening 
withhold not thy hand ; for thou knowest not whether 
shall prosper either this or that, or whether they both 
shall be alike good.’ 

“ Mother, mother ! thou hast heeded this admonition, 
and to-night, after the lapse of years, a little germ has 
drifted safely to my feet ; the beauteous bloom has by de- 
grees expanded, and I breathe its fragrance ; but side by 
side with its dewy petals are the comforting words, 4 Well 
done, thou good and faithful servant,’ first greeting which 
welcomed thy upward flight in years long gone, and thy 
son — thy loved one in life — while listening to the peaceful 
chime, inhales a serene bliss ; for have we not the blessed 
assurance that the holy mantle of the departed oftentimes 
causes our heavenly Father to list to the wild imploring 
cry of the living ?” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


The dun of twilight had stolen so imperceptibly upon the 
eager, anxious little flower-girl, that she had scarcely noted 
the shadows of coming night, from which she now shrank 
shiveringly back. 

The lamp-lighters were busy upon the streets, and the 
muffled hum of the homeward bound fell with pall-like 
gloom upon a heart which struggled bravely to be buoy- 
ant. All day long, her wearied feet had trodden the dif- 
ferent thoroughfares, offering, in a suppliant, modest man- 
ner the bouquets which the glorious sunrise, had found tast- 
ily arranged in her basket. 

The sales of the day previous had made her so sanguine 
and happy ; but to-night she drew languidly around her the 
worn though neatly-mended shawl, which concealed but 
slightly her gracile, elegant figure. Unfettered now, the 
thoughts of cheer which had through the long day buoy- 
ed her up. Tears, hot, scalding tears, were coursing rapid- 
ly down the soft cheeks, which not even the labors imposed 
by poverty could sully. 

Heart-agonies, heart-throbbings, and heart-yearnings 
had all been tenderly borne with, hitherto; for through 
the grayish mist were angel whispers wooing her on. 
From thought’s darkened laboratory still stole softly out 
sweet comforters, whose egress could not be debarred; 


21 8 


MAIDEE , TIIE ALCHEMIST; OB, 


but to-night they failed to soothe* for combating fiercely 
and sternly with these airy figures, was the piteous picture 
of a sick, and perhaps dying father, to whom not even 
her little earnings of the day would bring the necessary 
nourishment. 

How ghastly seems the pageant of real life when its 
death-like tread grates upon our ear! How cruel the 
review while destroying the verve and enthusiasm of 
youth ! 

Eunice, poor trembling, quivering Eunice ! Earth, water, 
air, with their myriad of graces, their winsome ways, their 
eidolons of beauty, smile not for the city’s bare foot. To 
behold germination — to bend her longing ear to catch the 
rills of forest music — to gladden her own ideals of beauty, 
which the dust and smoke of a cramped city were fast sti- 
fling — to indulge her spirit of levity in maddening pranks, 
her sportive humors lost sight of in the long, wavy grass 
of the enticing meadows, the living greens of nature, where 
bloomed the delicate wild flower, 

“ Who, light and lowly as a little glow-worm, 

Sheddeth her beauty round her like a rose, 

Sweet smelling dew upon the ground it grows 

these joys, these pleasures, were not for Eunice. No, 
no ! her elysian islets were far off amid the offing, as she 
thought now, and no pilot were needful to steer her to the 
wished-for home ; for had she not seen those fairy haunts 
submerged one by one, inundated by the crest and foam 
of the ever-moving waves ? 

Quaking still, she clung nervously to the inner path, and 
scarcely raised her sad eyes to the passer. Malevolence 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


219 


smiled at the thinly clad figure ; but the feeling philanthro- 
pist paused, and would have staid the little creature, had 
she not strenuously opposed it. 

Lulled into a momentary repose by the glimpse of a 
large Gothic church in a retired portion of the city, Eunice 
stopped on reaching the gloom cast by the gothicized 
building, and peered quickly around. The rapid flight 
had caused the little heart to flutter wildly, and she felt 
that she needed rest. How quiet and peaceful it seemed 
after leaving the heart of the great city, where the bustle 
and noise had so inturbidated, yet how much greater the 
fear at an approximation to the musty garret she called 
home ! The dreary attic rooms, where dwelt the canaille 
of the city — where nightly, amid those uncongenial spirits, 
she must listen to naught save oaths and jeers. 

Eunice had never known brighter days, and yet an in- 
born feeling daily whispered that such should not have 
been her destiny, and she loathed this mingling of stray 
lights and constant shadows. 

Long did Eunice pause ; in fact, she did not note time. 
This rest, ah! it was a gentle balsam — no turmoil, no 
turpitude ; such quietude failed not to have its happy effect. 

“ But my father needs me,” she said half reluctantly, as 
she turned to go; but ere she had withdrawn from the 
shade which had concealed her, the stopping of a vehicle 
almost immediately in her front, startled and agitated Eu- 
nice deeply. Some men issued forth bearing a coffin. 

A burial by moonlight. Eunice had never seen one. 
Would it be wrong for her to stay and witness the cere- 
mony ? Forgotten now her many tears. Curiosity con- 
quered, and the child glided noiselessly after the group. 


220 


MAID EE, TEE ALCHEMIST / OR, 


But woman ! where was she ? 

“ Surely,” murmured Eunice, “ this man must have lived 
and died alone. Where is his wife ? Where is his child ? 
I would not have treated father so.” 

And yet, Eunice, all day long your father has been 
alone. You would not neglect the dead, and yet the liv- 
ing needs your care far more. Alas ! unconscious child- 
hood, seeking refuge amid the cavilings which a thought- 
less, gay world are daily muttering. 

Slowly and with much gravity the corpse was borne 
forward. Some one, then, must have loved it, or they 
would not be so tender. A family mausoleum ; ah ! how 
elaborate the finish of the costly receptacle. Never before 
had Eunice seen any thing more lovely ; it dazzled the 
eye of this miniature warbler of life’s beauties, and she 
held her breath, fearing lest the least noise would dispel 
the vision. 

How she wished one of the last homes of the pampered 
children of the wealthy might be hers ! She thought her 
eternal sleep would be sweeter if the hard, rough clods of 
clay were not allowed to fall upon her little wooden coffin ; 
but then the thought of the beauteous flowers, so loved 
and fondled, would intrude — when would they bloom in 
such a home as this ? It is true, still, drooping, mourning 
ones might here bring their fresh buds daily ; but there 
would be no one to eradicate the churlish weeds — to em- 
bellish and beautify as the hand of art might dictate for 
poverty-stricken Eunice. Yet her hopeful feelings uttered 
softly that even nature’s diadems might wave their little 
tresses above her mound of soft, mellow earth sponta- 
neously — even the green grass; would be preferable. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


221 


Eunice was dreaming! Yes; it was her privilege to 
dream. She could not smell the freshly-mown hay, and, 
amid the luxury of country feasts, bring back once more 
the bloom upon her little cheek. Yet Eunice could dwell 
amid fairy gleamings, unshackled by mundane happings, 
free from the low jest and silent sneer; and in these dream- 
lets, it may be, she was happy. Can we doubt it ? 

A harsh, grating noise awoke Eunice from her trance- 
like state. She had stood by the dead, and had not been 
chilled ; but the turning of a key had caused her to spring 
tremblingly up. But where were the group ? All gone ! 
No, not all. A form was resting weariedly upon the gate- 
way. Surely he would not shut her up in the gloomy 
churchyard ! Must she approach him ? Ominous were 
these vestiges of mortality. Almost stupefied from terror 
at the possibility of a night to be spent with the dead — 
ghastly associations — Eunice went timidly forward. 

“ Buy my flowers ?” 

She was the simple flower-girl once more. The daily 
salutation came forth mechanically. But, gazing fixedly 
upon a large, brilliant star, the stranger did not answer 
her. His look of calm, dignified sorrow appalled Eunice. 

“ Father,” he said sadly, “ God, veiled in clouded ma- 
jesty, has spoken, bidding the criminal execrations, the 
vile animosities, the fearful reckonings which I have for 
years secretly enrolled against thy murderers, disperse. 

“ By the babbling brook, in the wee hours of night, I 
have started, as the rustling leaves, the agitated waters, 
bore back the words, ‘ Vengeance is mine.’ In the hall 
of gayety and mirth their solemnity could not be stilled. 
The grandeur of their import still overpowered ; and to- 


222 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


night, I have borne back to the last home of your ances- 
tors, that which I had sworn in my wrath should never 
leave my keeping, until the vile accomplice, as well as the 
more guilty instigator, were lifeless. The latter already 
bends before an offended Judge. The accomplice — where 
is he ? 

“ It was an idolatrous love. The cerements even, which 
have infolded it for dreary years have been sacred. I 
could not part with you— with thy body, embalmed, not 
only with its aromatic oils and spices, but with my tears. 
It has remained concealed where my daily vision might 
be daily reminded of the terrible vow of dire revenge for 
many sad and desolate years ; and I blessed the hand 
which had thus taught me the art of preservation. 

“ * Nothing remains out love ; the world’s round mass 
It doth pervade, all forms of life it shares.’ 

“ It is the guerdon for which we hourly toil and struggle, 
the focus around which clusters each shade, each sorrow, 
and each bliss. How closely we pursue it ! But, alas ! it 
is a phantom which vanishes, while our very existence 
seems dependent upon its stay. We imparadise our frail 
tenements, and clutch and defiantly brave the receding 
forms which our loving natures had impaneled ; we wres- 
tle, pray, entreat, that they may forever remain with us ; 
but either malevolence denies, or — what is far more so- 
lemn — death enters, and leaves us quivering beneath 
the lash, until in our humility — as I am doing to-night — 
we murmur, ‘ Not my will, but thine, O God ! be done/ ” 

There was a light touch on his arm. A tear shaded 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


223 


beneath the long, dark lashes, and when the violet eyes 
were raised to his own, he felt that he was not alone. 

“ Eunice, dear child, what has brought you here at this 
hour of the night ?” 

Paul Mahon looked kindly, but in amazement upon 
her. He recognized the gentle girl whose voice, sweet 
and thrilling, had so often tempted him to linger for a 
while on the corner of Willow street, and choose some of 
her inimitable bouquets. 

Indeed, so frequent were these little talks, that the face 
and comportment of the child had grown strangely fami- 
liar. Suspicion then, of wrong in connection with Eunice, 
could not enter his mind. 

“ Father is sick, and I have not sold my flowers to-day 
as usual. I remained quite late, hoping to make enough 
money to carry him something that he could relish. 
Sometimes I can sell them to those going to the opera ; 
but to-night I failed, and I became so terrified that I 
almost ran away from the crowd.” 

“ But you must not rest here any longer. Eunice, 
come, shall we not purchase some food ? Then I can go 
with you to your father.” 

How her little heart bounded with joy to be under his 
protection; the one whose playful words had so often 
cheered her drooping spirits ; who in buying her bouquets 
had so often placed the food within her reach for which 
intense hunger had caused her to long. 

Yes, she would go with him anywhere, anywhere in 
the wide world. 

“ Has your father been sick long, Eunice ?” 


224 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST \ 


“ Not long ; but then he is so cross, and sometimes 
strikes me when I bring him nothing.” 

" And your mother, Eunice ?” 

“ Dead !” 

Ah ! he had touched the chord of sorrow at last. 
Motherless! No wonder her little bare feet day by day 
trod the streets of the busy city in search of food. No 
wonder the little form bent forward at his question and 
sobbed audibly. Eunice motherless ! There was a new 
tie now to bind him to the delicate, sensitive flower-girl, 
and he pressed the cold though passive hand still more 
tenderly. 


v 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“ 1 Like a long-legged grasshopper in the garden, 

Forever on the wing, and hops and sings 
The same old song, as in the grass he springs ; 

Would he but stay there ! No, he needs must muddle 
His prying nose in every puddle.’ 

“ Heigh-ho ! would that I could do the same. Another 
night, and my gains all to be lost by this uncomfortable 
position — this virtually chaining-down of my poor limbs 
and body — in fact, this Procrustean torture. Yet how 
fortunate, as Pandora opened her flood-tide of evils, that 
hope should have been severed from the gladsome train ; 
otherwise this miserable apology of a tripod, for the bed 
gives me hourly unmistakable evidence of the absence 
of one of its rickety limbs, could scarce detain me. Eunice, 
Eunice ! you silly child, if I could place my hands upon 
your lithe figure again, a vigorous shake, believe me, 
would relax your fine constitution. I would throttle — ” 

“ Father,” said Eunice, with the submissive voice of a 
deprecator, “ indeed, I have done my best ; but the 
stranger accomplished far more for me, than my wilting 
flowers would have done in days.” 

“ Stranger, Eunice ! You have not been so suicidal as 
to bring any one into my very sanctum — indeed, my 
only place of refuge ; do you not know ?” 

“ Hush!” 

The finger was extended wamingly. 


226 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

“ Father, you forget the partition is thin. Your harsh 
language will be heard.” 

And Eunice, without further ceremony, opened the 
door and bade Paul Mahon enter. The room, a low, 
untidy apartment, strongly impregnated with the occu- 
pant’s vile taste, was indeed appalling to the cultivated, 
luxurious philanthropist. Accustomed to heed the slight- 
est behest of his fellow-man, when groaning beneath the 
weight of misfortunes, he often entered the abodes of the 
indigent ; but rarely did a shock so repellent ensue : every 
murder which had occurred during the past half-century 
within the man’s knowledge seemed there paneled — 
glaring upon the walls, frightfully lurid. 

He had compassionated, sorrowed for Eunice before; 
but how much more now ? — Naught, in fact, appearing, 
which could at all harmonize with the glimpses of pathos 
and sentiment, which even he had seen revealed in his 
own limited acquaintance with the winning, impassioned 
child; a child upon whose fair brow a strangely weird 
idyl seemed written, but marvelously polished, firmly 
finished, and mayhap — thought whispered — it was her 
own daily dreamings there traced. 

Yet the uncouth, filthy apartment seemed not more re- 
pulsive than the beastly, sensual, depraved man before 
him. And this, Eunice’s father? Incredible beyond de- 
gree — agonizing, loathsome to every refined emotion. 

“You are mystified, sir? Undoubtedly, undoubtedly; 
but walk in. My little angel of mercy but poorly pre- 
pares others for her father’s appearance ; but she’s a 
genuine example of the sex. In fact, your proximity 
caused me to pause somewhat in reflections which were 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


227 


not without interest, and also, I trust, without profit. At 
times, when alone, I love to indulge in past reminiscences ; 
to reproduce knowledge which might otherwise grow 
rusty ; for notwithstanding the fact that my surroundings 
may have caused you to anticipate nothing but degrada- 
tion, I went through a thorough curriculum in my 
younger days — a course of study which for want of time 
has scarcely benefited Eunice ; but that is of no conse- 
quence, for what a trifle a woman’s life amounts to ! 
The introducer of evil — one of the fairest — created, in fact, 
in a rage by Jupiter — her deceptive form of loveliness 
alone concealing the artful, plotting, gossip-loving crea- 
ture ; so enough of her. 

“Take a seat, sir. We lead an inane life at present; 
but you will certainly find us the very quintessence of po- 
liteness — unless, to my disgrace be it said, ebriosity caus- 
es me to lose sight of urbanity. I know that I am not 
addressing an abominable gudgeon, but Mr. Paul Mahon, 
sir — the true type of a gentleman — as his father was be- 
fore him.” 

The nonchalant \ bombastic manner in which the whole 
was uttered disgusted as well as surprised Paul Mahon. 
How could this nefarious schemer, this infamous emissary 
of another’s iniquitous designs — for his physiognomy 
plainly indicated his real character and his daily, pursuits 
— this man whose impecuniosity, as stated by his child, 
had aroused his sympathies, causing him at the same 
time to seek him out, have ever known him ? He did 
not remember ever to have met him, and stood like one 
petrified. 

“ Icicled, crystallized into a statue, cast into a form so 


228 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 


dazzling, that I look and wonder. Do not writhe be- 
neath my fulsome compliments. In fact they serve, when 
pronounced gracefully, as sweetness amid the ups and 
downs of life. You came to relieve my exchequer — 
which I admit is frightfully low — for which accept warm 
thanks, not cold ones. In fact, did I not, like Mephisto- 
pheles, know 

“ ‘ My pathos certainly would stir thy laughter, 

Hadst thou not laughter long since quite forsworn,’ 

I might divert you for an hour while giving vent to 
mournful ditties — pleasantries to me, you know, over 
which I could secretly laugh ; but we will dispense with 
the farce. This morning I lay here sadly soliloquizing 
over my fate, and the lines from Goethe’s Faust , 

“ ‘And ere one yet has half the journey sped, 

The poor fool dies. O sad disaster ! ’ 

arose, strangely to fascinate. But to-night, illuminated 
with a gleam of health, dark thoughts are banished, and 
I am, as ever, an humble admirer of Mephistopheles, whom, 
let me inform you, I have selected from demonology as a 
model. The second archangel, it is true; but as it has 
generally been my fate in life to be second in all things, 
the choice, I think, is quite appropriate ; and truly the 
mocking, relentless fiend pleases me. I would not wish 
to exculpate ” 

“ Miscreant, your exculpation is unnecessary. Any 
thing from you fails to interest. My tongue has been si- 
lent, it is true ; but only from the amazement felt at your 
depravity. Could you realize the infinitesimal part of my 
contempt, you would perhaps laugh at your desultory, 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


229 


nonsensical communication. But Eunice, poor, humiliat- 
ed little one, do not fall with the fallen. Dear child ! how 
I wish I had the power to dry forever these tears of mor- 
tification ; yet should you ever need my aid, come where 
this card directs, and I will not repulse you.” 

He pressed the still, cold hand within his own warm 
one, and then nervously closing his ear to exclude the 
spasmodic chuckle, the ribald laugh with which the room 
resounded, he passed down the broken stair-step. 

“What say you to taking the frail one, eh? Your 
Bible bids you return good for evil, you know.” 

The words were borne distinctly to him as he reached 
the pavement and breathed the cold, bracing night-air. 

Goaded on to madness, clutch fiercely with the thirst- 
ing demons, Paul Mahon ; for the suspicions generated by 
those mocking words are true. Stifle the malady which 
has so long rankled in thy breast. Upheave those wick- 
ed thoughts; replace them by purer. Remember, He 
who dwells among the “just made perfect,” forgave, and 
shall not thy God, the Holiest of the Holy, be thine 
avenger ? 

The tempest quelled, how beautiful the home of his 
aged parent, as he approached, seemed to his aching heart ! 
Home ! sweet haven of hallowed joys ; even though thy 
fireside be desolate — even though a mourning heart alone 
beat within its precincts, still thou art sweet How be- 
nignant, how gentle the greetings of that mother. He 
could not dispel the calm, quiet joy which his presence 
had diffused by one word of sorrow ; he could not revi- 
vify the scene through which he had just passed, although 
she fondly pressed him to do so. 


230 


MAID EE , THE ALCHEMIST ; OR , 


She would know what had detained her noble son to so 
late an hour, for it was not his wont ; but his face dropped 
gloomily upon the upraised hand, and he quietly waived 
the question. With a delicacy ever the concomitant of 
love, the mother desisted from any comments on his de- 
pression, and silently handed him some letters, which, ar- 
riving the week previous, during his absence from the city, 
she had neglected hitherto to give him. 

Withdrawing his arm slowly from the mantel, he pro- 
ceeded, with little manifest interest, to the examination. 
But one letter arrested his attention at last. Ah ! why had 
his mother detained them so long? Not from Marian, it 
is true ; but the handwriting undoubtedly was that of one 
living near her home, and in whose society he could not 
doubt she had been constantly thrown. Might there not 
be some word — some little word kindly and gently spoken 
within of the one she had so long, cruelly expelled from 
her mind ? — a tracery, it may be, of softened chidings ; 
but remembrance was what he craved, even though the 
foliations were unnaturally pungent and bitter. A wild, 
fearful palpitation ensued from the heart, which so long 
marveled at the impossibility of a sedative that could 
tranquillize the acute pain which had so long suffered in 
unison with the tortured mind, at the thought of its attic 
nobleness being doubted. 

What though her ways seemed coquettish in the past ? 
Might he not yet, in the genuine purity and truth of which 
he knew her to be the possessor, find a revelation, start- 
ling even though it be, still accompanied by an explana- 
tion more than satisfactory to the long-famished heart ? 
The seal was quickly and tremblingly broken. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


231 


u * Oh ! the joyous, hopeful words, 

The happy thoughts from which I’ve been estranged, 

Again come round me.’ 

“ Mother, gone now are my gloomy musings. Marian 
is still faithful ; rejoice, and bless again thy son, as he ex- 
tends his proudly confident hopes once more toward hap- 
piness and Marian.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


The pensile tendrils of the ivy, and its gorgeous festoons, 
contrasted beautifully with the glintings of white marble. 
The efflorescence of the plants her own hands had placed 
there, had, year by year, charmed by their daily perfume; 
but at length, with their leaves sere, the beauty of their 
tinge dimmed, the varied-hued flowerets would, one by 
one, while receiving their blight, drop; and she had, in 
her own peculiarly fascinating manner, craved the sweet 
boon of being the one permitted to remove them. 

How oft had her heart, while deluged afresh in gloom, 
compared the refulgence of the ivied green with her own 
idolatrous love — softened, it is true, by the unwavering 
kindness of the living, yet still like the graceful, clinging 
vine whose original brightness mildew, decay, and multi- 
farious changes had failed to extinguish. 

Spring, summer, autumn, and winter had still listened 
to the low, plaintive wail of the orphaned heart. The 
ever-varying cloudlets — now magenta gildings, now pearl- 
like edges — could not still the pang, even though she mo- 
mentarily paid them silent homage. 

The kind hand of the step-mother whom she adored, 
who had so often dwindled her wildering, scorching 
thoughts into shape and beauty — whose ubiquitous 
sympathy had so gladdened desolate lives which, indu- 
rated by unkindness, might otherwise have fallen — whose 
grave yet benignant reprovals had oft strangled and ex- 


MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST. 


233 


punged the thick undergrowth of error which battled for 
existence — and while pointing the rebellious hearts to a 
transparent path which led upward, far beyond the am- 
ber-stippled clouds, away from the dusky hues of sorrow, 
mellowed and softened the darkened drapery into an 
inimitable whiteness, within whose silvery sheen she 
sometimes lingered. Still there were hours even then — 
though it seemed ungrateful — when the listless, sadly- 
drooping form withdrew quietly within the cold tomb, and 
beside the chilled figure, sought its comfort. 

Ah ! the dreary, desolate, motherless children of earth — 
for are they not the orphaned indeed ? — who can num- 
ber their unwept miseries ? who can solace their untold 
griefs ? Who can withhold pity, when their unearthly 
calls for the love are heard which rendered their childhood 
one vast panorama of beryl beauty, in whose delectable 
green they sported, beneath the gentle guardianship of their 
immaculate, never- tiring All-Father ? 

How could Marian bid adieu to a spot which she had 
regarded with such an absorbing idolatry? One long 
year to ensue ere it must again be revisited ? and must the 
quivering link be broken — the low farewell, uttered ? 

Maggie in her quiet home, happy once more in her 
father’s love, surrounded by much to gladden, had caused 
her for a moment to forget in her light blithesomeness, the 
parting. 

Netta Wilson, with her warm, gushing love, almost in- 
undated her with praises, dictated by gratitude, as the 
new-found joy of companionship, which Marian’s 
thoughtfulness had upheaved, arose before the gleesome 
prattler, causing the rending tie to be still the more pain- 


234 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST ; OR, 

ful ; and in her efforts to comfort the little one, she had 
again forgotten all thoughts of selfish sorrow. 

The loved Sunday-school class, whom the kind instruc- 
tress had so long led by holy utterances and teachings 
from the book she loved, did not divine the depths of sor- 
row with which the moonlit streams would sport coldly 
before the peaceful speaker they were reluctantly yield- 
ing up might return to the shades of Poplar Grove. 

And the friends and whilom lovers, whose egress and 
ingress during the whole day, had awakened both gleeful 
and sad thoughts as their farewells and congratulations 
were spoken, little dreamed of the despairing moans 
which the lonely spot, long baptized by a daughter’s tears, 
must again witness. 

It was a wild, passionate, panting groan, and the 
severing word uttered so low that its dreary note was 
echoless. 

The old gardener, who had loved dearly his gentle 
mistress, stood ready, with head uncovered and tears 
coursing down his withered cheek, to grasp the hand 
which had so long aided him, and the old man could not 
forget. 

“ Tom, I confide my mother’s tomb to your keeping. 
Remember, not a weed must cumber the hallowed 
ground.” 

“ Ay, trust me, trust me, missy ; trust the old man for 
once with the spot. ’Twill be sacred, not only for your 
sake, but hers.” He gasped, and pointed the trembling fin- 
ger upward. 

The old man was choking with the excess of his emo- 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


235 


tion. The past, with its long silent, weird notes, had 
been reproduced, and he wept aloud. 

Marian passed quietly on. The hour for their depar- 
ture she knew was nigh, and the low, piteous wail must, 
she instinctively felt, float quietly by her side, even amid 
the novelty of foreign travel. 

Mrs. Lee was standing beneath the glare of a brilliant 
hall lamp, with her exquisitely moulded, delicately taper- 
ing fingers pressed lightly against the large, dark eyes, to 
shield them from the light, awaiting Marian’s presence, 
the face glowing with a glad, joyous radiance ; for had not 
the tidings just reached her that Claude and Sidney 
henceforth were to be under her entire control ? — that the 
step-mother felt loth to assume the responsibility of their 
guidance and training — and she coveted it. That noble, 
gifted being, with whom the sour, snarling pessimist could 
not find a sympathizer; who turned weariedly from the 
silly persiflage of the voluble, flippant, false woman — the 
forgetter of the priceless talent with which God had in- 
trusted her; upon whose hungry, sparkling intellect she 
had inscribed “ deleble ” — triumphantly. With such, al- 
though suavity and grace of manner uniformly marked 
her bearing, little congeniality reigned; yet her liberal 
views, divested of all egotism ; her noble eclecticism ena- 
bling her to penetrate, and enfold within her large heart, 
the pure, the beautiful, the suffering wherever found — no 
matter how loathsome the outward garb. 

Can we wonder, then, that the marbleized brow, the 
crystal drops which hung from the long lashes, told the 
secret of her absence, as Marian slowly appeared ? That 
the mesmeric chain which bound these two matchless na- 


236 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OB, 


tures — that its riveted links spoke of a terrible shock ; 
whispering that the little talisman, which had extinguished 
evil by binding the perturbed heart with a heavenly light, 
had been rudely electrified, and that gentle words were 
now necessary to ignite the cresset which henceforth must 
illuminate her daily pathway. She pressed her quivering 
lips to the cold cheek, and spoke such words of comfort 
as only woman can. 

“ Ah mamma! if you would only upbraid me when I 
thus indulge my traitorous thoughts, my resisting nature 
perhaps —perhaps ■” 

“ No, no, my daughter, I do not regard them as such, 
it is your holy memory of the dead which renders the 
love for the living the more to be prized; yet more of 
this anon. Your father is waiting, and, as you know, we 
can not stay the flight of the ponderous locomotive.” 

Marian pressed on hurriedly to her own precious room 
— doubly precious on the eve of parting; so many bosom 
thoughts to be now hushed of which it had unceasingly 
warbled. And the little escritoire — ah ! did it not even 
in its quietude speak volumes ? It was sadly and reluc- 
tantly opened, and there lay the package ; those fond let- 
ters, whose transcripts were engraven upon a costly vel- 
lum which knew no erasing ; those tender letters which 
spoke only of love and their future, divided, fearfully sev- 
ered now. 

Ah ! it was a grand, majestic Acropolis she had reared ; 
but a terrible kamsin, the obliterator of her hopes, had 
scorched, had blighted sadly the limpid future in which 
her past happy dream ings had placed one darkened spot— 
her mother’s tomb. 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


237 


Was he indeed false ? Yet, alas ! she was not the wily 
casuist to delve the mystery. But 

“ Love is poesy ; it doth create, 

From fading features, dim soul, doubtful heart, 

And this world’s wretched happiness, a life — 

A life which is as near to heaven as are the stars.” 

Its gorgeous incantations had made her until now the 
trembling pyrrhonist as to his guilt, his want of truth to 
her. What had seemed insuperable difficulties, she had 
by seeking refuge in rationalism subdued ; but his con- 
tinued silence compelled her to do so no longer, and 
mocking realism laughed to scorn her hopeless efforts at 
an explanation. With Tom the package must be intrust- 
ed — his hand must place it in the office, hers could not do 
it — and then, en passant, a soft good-by would mournful- 
ly escape from lips, long pale through suffering, for Paul 
Mahon. It would laden the air but for a moment, rever- 
berating amid the pure ether, to be wafted, alas ! whither- 
ward? 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


Scenes long couchant, with their proud crests alone 
peering curiously across the vast waters, which she had 
hitherto compulsively sipped through other eyes — appa- 
rently defying her approach — now in all their matchless 
grandeur had been enchantingly vitrified, and the trans- 
parency was pleasing. 

The castellated homes, bearing the marked impress of 
antiquity — their mullioned windows, lofty turrets, but- 
tresses, and gable roofs — possessed a facade rich in inter- 
est to Marian. The ligatures within which she had been 
incased — those hazy, misty impressions from some, though 
startlingly life-like ones from others — were slowly dissolv- 
ing to give place to her own thoughts engendered after a 
careful survey. 

She stood within the halls of Penshurst — the home of 
the Sidneys — and, while leaning against a vert a?itique 
column, reanimated imaginarily the vast rooms, where 
rustling silks and soft velvets passed and repassed, with- 
out its being necessary to summon to her aid the painter’s 
wand, to render the effect of past loveliness perpetual. 

Combe Abbey was not forgotten, where the manes of 
the unfortunate Stuarts assailed her on every side, and 
babbled sadly of by-gones. Elizabeth’s shade evoked the 
memories, and the thought, dreamily, of the “ crown of 
thorns” which had pierced the fair brow of the sparkling, 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


239 


queenly Mary, and the doom which its pressure had 
brought both to her and her descendants. 

The blooming ground of Flodden, and Culloden’s no 
less “ desolate heath,” were all lively with the piercing 
shrieks of the maddened wraiths, who had vainly follow- 
ed the ill-fated line, and still implored for their idols the 
softened benison. 

Where once could be seen the simple cross of “ Sibyl 
Grey,” she had lingered to obliterate by the cooling 
“ springlet” — the sweetened waters — the recollections of 
the subtle logic which had trampled upon and desecrated 
holiest memories — memories which, had it not been for 
the charming spell woven by Scott’s immortal pen, might 
have swept and destroyed, by such rigid cultivation, 
the battle-field upon whose fatal spot so many noble and 
loving hearts had fallen, and above which miseries un- 
told still fluttered. 

She paused upon the banks of the Avon, where upland 
and dale spoke admiringly of the massive Shakespearian 
intellect ; but the musing averter looked quietly and more 
enthusiastically into the placid waters, which gossiped in- 
cessantly of Anne Hathaway and the gentle wooing. 

The straths and greenswards of England, the glens 
and recesses of the Highlands, this fair girl, upon whose 
brow furor poeticus had been stamped, kindled afresh 
with rare and costly gems of unfading witchery. She 
had placed in nature’s corbeilles frightful gnomes, whose 
eldritch shrieks oft startled her own fancy creations ; and 
when, wearied with the magic spell, she would wander far 
from supernatural gleanings, away to the soft woodland, 
where amid a humid soil, reaching forth to catch the sway- 


240 M A IDEE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR, 

ing ferns, “ and the delicately-veined flowers,” she would 
meditate on the sunny reminiscences with the metrical 
beauties, of which her note-book would be replete, and 
of which its musical cadence would prattle in coming 
years when the loved retreat — the Southern home — had 
been again sought. 

The summer was passing rapidly away ; a summer 
brimming over with delicious recollections. In the joy- 
ous passage from spot to spot the 

“ hands that penned 
And tongues that uttered wisdom,’ ’ 

had been silently clasped. Friendships had been formed, 
liberal ideas garnered for future usefulness ; and now, 
on the eve of their departure from bonnie Scotland, they 
had drifted to the island castle, the once quiet nook 
which had witnessed the incarceration and gloom of the 
Scottish queen — the Loch Levin home which had, alas ! 
cast an indelible stain upon those indurated steel-clad 
warriors, who had pronounced the mournful fiat that im- 
prisoned and sealed for a while, the sanguine hopes of 
Mary. 

Unclasping some of the ivy, whose tendrils seemed loth 
to leave the mildewed walls, and tossing them carelessly 
around her, Marian, preferring solitude while brooding 
over the sad fate of one who, even though she could 
not inclose within a confident faith, seemed still draped 
in mysterious loveliness, wandered from the group of ex- 
cited speakers, with whom Mr. and Mrs. Lee were tem- 
porarily engrossed, and rested not until she had reached a 
mossy bank, where in silence, crowned by the vagaries 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD. 


241 


into which she often abstractedly glided, she gazed ear- 
nestly into the shimmering water. 

“ Then playfully the chaplet wild 
She wreathed in her dark locks and smiled.” 

What wonder a reflection so dazzling should have 
caused a blush of pride to mantle Marian’s cheek. A 
few flowers she had gathered were mingling with the 
glossy leaves. 

“ And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace 
A nymph, a naiad, or a Grace, 

Of finer form or lovelier face l” 

Marian was indeed beautiful, and the clear, glossy 
mirror whose diaphanous glimpses had suffused cheek and 
lip with crimson, had caused also the truant imagination 
to float wildly forward, far away amid loved scenes — 
countercurrent with the sufferings of the lovely queen, at 
whose feet she had truly intended to offer up sympathy. 
Thought, suspended for a while above the white mauso- 
leum, cast a momentary tinge over the beauteous fea- 
tures, but lingered not long, for happier reverberations re- 
fused to be silent. 

“ The true nobility with which I have ever invested him, 
the protector and shielder of woman, has not proven a mis- 
nomer,” she said thoughtfully, as she drew forth a concealed 
letter which indicated by the interlacing folds that its perusal 
had been oft repeated. The hopeless, dreary expression, 
which casting its shadow the moment before, entirely dis- 
appeared as a glad sunbeam poised over the page inun- 
dating, and with its slanting rays, ejecting darkness. The 
tinge of happiness was coloring again her existence, and 


242 MAID EE) THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 

symmetry and beauty, harmony and peace, were comming- 
ling. 

“He has evoked the aid of Harpocrates,” she said 
pensively, “and simply in the elucidation of the past 
writes, 

“ ‘ Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman;’ 

woman, then, has been the cause of our long estrange- 
ment ; and yet how tenderly he touches upon it — not even 
her name is given. Who could it have been ? Surely 
not Morelia ? Sometimes I have suspected her, since the 
arrival of this letter; her conduct was inexplicable' for 
months before I left home ; but yet — ah ! I will not be- 
lieve it ; her brother is so unselfish in nature, she could not 
be entirely different. This letter speaks of his being soon 
with me, and a gladdened presentiment fills my heart 
that it will not be- long. Oh ! if it could be.” 

“ Dreams are mind-clouds ; high and unshapen beauties, 

Or but God-shaped, like mountains which contain 
Much and rich matter, often not for us, 

But for another. Dreams are rudiments 
Of the great state to come. We dream what is 
About to happen to us.” 

Preoccupied, Marian did not notice the quick, happy 
step by her side. 

“ Marian !” 

The voice, ah! the same manly accents she had so 
loved ; his letter lay spread out before her. It was an 
auspicious moment, and a joyous, ringing laugh escaped 
him. An hour had sped by — an hour replete with expla- 
nations and gorgeous plannings for the future — to only 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


2*3 


one of which Marian slightly demurred, but in which 
Paul Mahon’s reasoning and earnest, heartfelt pleadings 
at last induced her to coincide, when Mr. and Mrs. Lee, 
sincerely sympathizing in the joy of their daughter and 
Mr. Mahon, advanced to warn them that the moment 
had arrived when they must leave the little island, of 
which Mr. Lee slyly whispered he feared his daughter 
would scarcely entertain a remembrance. 

The sedate, peace-loving portion of the inhabitants of 
Kinross were somewhat astonished at the announcement 
of a marriage ceremony to be performed at the cathedral 
three days after, at ten o’clock in the morning. It was 
the plan to which Marian had at first so seriously object- 
ed, but which Paul Mahon’s love had overruled. The 
gossiping, vivacious groups, who had rushed eagerly to 
see the beautiful bride whose charming pleasance , and 
brilliant, lofty bearing, had so completely captivated, 
marveled much that the handsome young American could 
have lost sight so long of his winsome lassie, and found 
her at last to wed and woo amid the quietude of Kinross, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Ten gladsome, yes, golden years have flitted by since 
the delicate tracery of existences, the shadow and sun- 
shine of each foliation, so marvelously enchained us. 

We withdrew for a while from the purlieus of Poplar 
Grove, but return to it once more, like the wearied, fam- 
ished exile, to gaze with him either upon its rich sepia 
pictures, or upon those where the pigment fascinates by 
its gay, ruby glow. Time has dealt kindly and leniently 
with its inmates; we would not intimate that the wary, 
untiring vicegerent, in his appalling vicissitudes and hei- 
nous mutations, has left them entirely unscathed ; but so 
gentle has been the touch, so much of peace devoid of 
discord, that sighs have rarely escaped their imprison- 
ment. 

Clarence Heywood, with whom 

“passions were all living serpents, and 
Twined like the gorgons round ” 

him, forcing the film of jealousy to fall from his long-tar- 
nished vision, returned many years since with his true 
friends to their home, leaving it only for an occasional 
visit to his niece Lilian Gardiner, or, as he laughingly tells 
Mr. and Mrs. Lee, to fluctuate between Paul Mahon’s 
city mansion and Poplar Grove, where a handsomely fur- 
nished studio awaits, in each home, his presence, and 
where he never fails to find every thing that can contri- 
bute to the whims of bachelordom cheerfully acceded to. 


MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST. 


2 45 


His lucubrations are incessantly of humanitarianism, and 
he also contends that 

i * The world hath made such comet-like advances 
Lately in science, we may almost hope, 

Before we die of sheer decay, to learn” 

the genuine explanations of the various “isms” which 
have so long baffled the brightest intellects. Nothing is 
permitted to deter him in his investigations, save the gen- 
tle wishes and happiness of those kind spirits whose over- 
flowing hearts of love and affection have gradually taught 
him to forget the bitterness of the past. 

Maggie Dickson, who still resuscitates the olden link 
which bound her to the Grove, though Marian happily 
turns often her footsteps thitherward, to bask once more 
in the same counsels and advice by which her young life 
had been biased, and in her father scarce recognizes the 
harsh, cruel man for whom she once uttered the name of 
parent, vacantly. 

And the orphaned children, for whom the parting, pant- 
ing cry had been such excruciating torture to Mrs. Lee, 
had never known the dreariness of neglect ; but with the 
fondness of an own mother she had ever turned to minis- 
ter to their slightest wants, physically, morally, and intel- 
lectually. Her home they still claim generally as theirs, 
although occasionally absenting themselves to cheer the 
saddened life of their father, for whom the gay step- 
mother manifests a singular indifference. The silver 
threads have thickened much his dark hair since we first 
met him, and his favorite seat in his magnificent home is 
one by a large window which looks forward, over the vast 


246 MA 1 DEE , THE ALCHEMIST / OiZ, 

hills, out upon a gentle declivity, where rests in silvery 
shimmer Lottie Morgan’s polished marble. 

But alone, in their sublimated sorrow, dwell Mr. Espi- 
nosa and Mr. Ronald, each true to their first and only 
love; but above all true to their God. Now strangely 
conscious of the claims of their fellow-man upon them, 
duty sternly tramples upon pleasure’s enticements. Save 
a visit to his sister, who has long since ceased to exhume 
the falseness and baseness of her former life, quenching 
gloom while luxuriating in the fascinations of a foreign 
court, where a French nobleman daily eulogizes the beaus 
ty of his Southern bride, Mr. Espinosa rarely leaves his 
home, but, in his reawakened consciousness of a Chris- 
tian’s mission, sees, in the reformation of his father and 
Eloise, objects for sincere prayer. 

Poor Eloise is still reticent as to her retreat, yet he feels 
assured that her promise has been kept. 

The clouds seem threatening above. A tempestuous 
night broods over us, and nature is about to revel, I fear, 
in one of those darkened pageantries in which she often 
madly delights. Yet it may be simply an imagery of its 
fearful power, and gladdened sunlight may frolic and 
dance at morning’s peep over woodland and dale ; and 
our hearts, untrue to their owners, have stolen softly away 
and are resting quietly within the cheerful library at “ the 
Grove.” They must be reclaimed ; therefore we unbar the 
massive entrance, and laugh defiantly at the terrific thun- 
der peals and pelting hail, as a sweet, peaceful picture 
greets us. 

Wouldst peer with us through lens, long partial ? A 
young boy, bright and sparkling, with his head resting 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


247 


upon the herculean body of a noble Newfoundland, 
who lounges indolently upon the soft rug, has been for 
some time philosophically considering the possible frustra- 
tion of the morrow’s sports. He has a broad, high, match- 
less forehead — a handsome youth — one we would don 
with the epithet “magnanimous.” We look eagerly into 
the fiery eye, and tremble lest the future should have many 
quaint impulses to combat with. A softened, winning 
smile finally neutralizes the conflicting elements, and we 
ncoherently exclaim, “Behold Marian’s first-born! for 
from no other could he have inherited so dangerous a fas- 
cination.” 

Mrs. Lee, with a lovely cherub cradled in her arms ? 
now and then presses the downy cheek to her own, as she 
sweetly sings in the softened lullaby which mesmerizes in- 
fantile slumber. A reflection as of an idolatrous love 
meets our anxious, inquiring gaze. The musical names of 
mother and step-mother had been blended at the baptis- 
mal font by Marian’s loving heart for the nursling. Each 
had crowned her young life with happiness when her help- 
lessness pleaded for care, and while commingling even in 
thought for her own daughter the precious names of two 
so cherished, she had instinctively felt that the same pal- 
ladia which shielded and guarded her own young life, now 
silently clasped hands warmly and affectionately above 
the innocent brow of infancy. The thoughtful act had 
caused tears of joy to spring into the dark eyes of Mrs. 
Lee, and she often pondered on the future of her wee- 
some granddaughter, who had already planted herself 
within her affections, and wondered if she would be re- 
warded with a love as true and ardent, as that which 


248 MAID EE, THE ALCHEMIST / OR , 

glowed within the pure nature of Marian for the step- 
ipother. She had never exacted worshiping love, such as 
had draped the silent sleeper, yet instinctively felt that 
the fond attachment for father and step-mother could not 
be silenced. 

Marian and Paul Mahon are busily engaged rendering 
comfortable in the large arm-chair by the fire, the latter’s 
own mother, who, no longer a stranger to the marvelous 
attractions of her kind daughter-in-law, refuses to be left 
in the city during the visits of Marian to the home of her 
parents, where they are all ever more than welcome. 

Mr. Lee is busily engaged in reading ; while Mr. Hey- 
wood, with his bachelor heart incalescing beneath such 
scenes of love, peeps pensively, although unconsciously, 
to the group over his book ; yet a softened sigh is his only 
monologue. 

Marian is happy. Happy ! a word far too trite, too 
meaningless, to express her emotions. The dreams of 
her youth had not been rudely canceled by the fell swoop 
of bitter disappointment. The entire loss of respect for 
the one who had so faithfully promised protection; the 
mournful, pleading cry for companionship and sympathy; 
the shattering of her once etherealized love, had never 
been her doom — the sad doom which broods so often 
over the constant, madly-loving wife, rendering her exist- 
ence desolate, inane, and miserable. On the contrary, 
bathed in the omnipotence of a love which could know 
no variation, her smiling, sparkling face, while upturned 
to receive the gentle, fond caress, murmurs proudly and 
triumphantly to the world, “ This is my husband.” 

Hand in hand with Paul Mahon, who proves a noble 


TURNING ALL TO GOLD . 


249 


coadjutor, she performs the amenities and charities of life, 
with a willing heart. And when the gleaming marble 
flashes back upon the throbbing heart its glittering rays, 
when the tenacious grief refuses to be hushed, the quiver- 
ing nerves are lulled by a nepenthe of loving and saga- 
cious reasoning ; the morbidness of the sorrow, although 
not entirely obliterated, still its pungency yielding beneath 
the potency and witchery of the husband’s untiring devo- 
tion and living piety. 








• «o 


: : 

V ^ ^ A ^4- “3 

°<u ***'’*\^° .. * 

V »’**' c\ «0 ,|V», V 

^■S» •$ 4 fd\%?P /h"® '#*. A V?< 

1U* :mrnmi *MSmi 

«* <l^ ^ •aSIpC*' 4 ? %> -vvC^!* ^ 

>'-••*• A o f ^‘'mV a^ <a *••»• A <y 4 

* <f> sJxxlr °o ^ c^S ^ c° .•-•• 

^o* :*fi&- ^bf ^ - * 




• /°<* . 

<uP O U 

^ V *"'■ «❖“ .... v>. 

*^£ZL.».* *P. V)fr % 

* 


1 •*- 4 

\ \/ 




’A. . *^ "»' 

^3. <?v»* A 
•• *b_ 4Y .•'■'•* 


A" <5* * * e « ° Ar O. * » i n * A® •$>■ * • . 

"i V | # f . ** , ^ k <» . \ • . aV . f ^ \ 

J . *LiW% v* V * 1 _?* O. * V » '/W* A 




. ** #*% 

.6^ 4 o * * . ^V> 

^ ^ o' 


^o 1 

Ho, 



\j^ °<U **"* A 0 ^ ••»•• "'o,*!* 

/ ***** aO • *VL/* *> V* »i #0 - ^ A 




* 4 * ^ 


o V 

v 4-°%_ «j 

** & JL / wf <» "r V * JL ** C/. aV I L/w^» •r 


■ , ^°%. •-. 




<» '••'i* 


■ d3 

* a£ 'Q\ 
4 -.4^ ■> 



<u Jp* 

C' .0 

s \f V 

<v. '«.»' .Cr „ 

% ,o* ••••.. V 

AOj 


;^->> v^V V^-y * 

rr w'. f! :JiSi- W 


/X •.? 


* -S tfV .» 

_ _ <* 4^ ^ *- 

... y* s'j*ffZ&\ „ c° .^1% °o J> 









